She's Got Me High
by stereolovur
Summary: JONAS "But how are you so sure that she's fallen out of love with you, and she's fallen in love with somebody else?," he asks me. To be completely and brutally honest, I'm not.
1. Chapter 1

It looks like I'm always going to be the best man. God, I would give anything to be the groom for once.

Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic for my brother and Stella, but I'm not very fond of being the third (or, when Kevin and Danielle come along, which was often, the fifth) wheel, and I'm sick of all these people asking me when I'll finally get hitched and lose this purity ring, and trust me, at 24, I really want to get rid of it.

I want to replace it with another kind of ring, but I don't know when I'll get the chance, or if I'll even get another shot at it.

"Hey Nick," someone says from the other side of my hotel room. I turn my head slightly, and see a fully dressed and fully groomed Kevin entering. "Almost done?"

"Pretty much. Just trying to figure out this suit," I answer back, staring at myself in the full body mirror in front of me. I love Gucci as much as the next person, but I wish my suit wasn't so, how do I say this, shiny.

"I think they made this suit out of plastic," I tell him, pulling at the 'fabric' of my tux, "or maybe rubber."

"Don't complain, mine's gray with glitter," he says to me, pointing at his shimmering blazer as he stands next to me, catching a glimpse at himself in the mirror as well.

"It's silver, which is actually okay because the wedding theme is gray," I answer back, "my suit looks like really badly made black pleather."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he says to me, slapping my back lightly, "you don't look as stupid as you think."

"I think you're lying."

"You think you might be right," he says, slapping my back again, but with a little more force. I open my mouth slightly, but close it again after deciding that I don't feel like answering back right now. I glance at him, and see that he's rubbing his wedding ring and twisting it around his finger again. Damn him.

"Where's Danielle?," I ask him casually, turning my attention back to the mirror and the ridiculous suit.

"Helping Stella with her dress," he replies, adjusting his tie, "they can't afford to ruin a hundred thousand dollar Vera Wang now."

I nod slightly, remembering Joe's many complaints and sleepless nights of work just trying to pay off for a dress he hasn't even seen. "Where's Adam?"

"Flirting with the flower girls," he says with a chuckle, "funny that he took after Joe, out of all the people, right?"

I smile, and I picture my little five year old nephew trying to impress Stella's nieces with some of his 'Justin Timberlake' dance moves and some of the jokes he learned from his dad's wild younger brother .

"I wish I had kids," I say randomly, and, as expected, Kevin just laughs at me.

"A little excited, aren't we?," he says with another laugh. "Try finding a person you want to have them with first before anything else, right?"

"I already did," I say to myself, hoping that Kevin wouldn't hear, but, after he slaps me again, I realize that I'm way to loud for my own good.

"Still pining for her, aren't you?," he asks me, with his stupid 'tell-me-all-about-it-because-I'm-your-big-brother' tone.

"You're not getting anything out of me," I say to him, and yet he stills looks at me funnily.

"It's been five years since she's left," he says to me, rubbing his chin as if he were deep in thought. "What's she doing now, by the way?"

"She's training for the country's Olympic figure skating team," I answer, then all the memories of the day she she boarded that damn plane come back to me. Still as painful as ever.

"Ever the dedicated athlete," he says with a sort of bittersweet melancholic grin, "wish she could've gone today, at the very least. It is, after all, Stella's big day."

"Stella understands," I remind him, "I think she wants her to win the gold more than she does."

"But, if ever she did come," Kevin begins, smiling mischievously, "and you were to see her-"

"I don't think so," I cut him off quietly as I lean forward to get a better look at my face, "she's apparently been seeing her coach for around five months."

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm Nick Lucas," I reply coolly, brushing away a few curls of hair away from my face, "I have my connections."

"Does mom know about that?," he says apprehensively, tightening his grip on my shoulder.

"She doesn't need to know anything," I say, then, I brush my brother's hand away, and turn for the door.

"Nick," he calls out as soon as I reach for the doorknob, "are you really just going to wait for her to come back to you?"

He really can't take a hint, can he?

"I'm thinking," I look back at him, with one of my signature smirks, "that was a rhetorical question."

"No, it wasn't," he answers back indignantly, "don't think anymore, just ans-"

Before I could hear the rest of his sad attempt to persuade me, I slam the door behind me, and walk out of the hallway to the elevators.

Even when he's already touching thirty, he still talks too much for my own taste.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
"Joe, stop fidgeting-"

"Kev, I think I'm losing the rings-"

"How could they be missing, I just gave them to you?!"

"I don't know, I was just holding them; dammit, those were Harry Winstons-"

"They're with me, Joe, and I said stop fidgeting-"

"I'm sorry, Nick, are you the one getting married-"

"That was a cheap shot-"

"You know you had it coming-"

"Are you sure Stella said yes, Joseph?," somebody else butts in. The three of us turn to see Frankie, and, to no one's astonishment, he was locking fingers with some size 2 model again, but this time, this one was from a Victoria's Secret catalog; at least, I think that's where I've seen her from.

"Hahaha, Franklin," Joe says sarcastically, sneering as he walks to the end of the assembly line.

"Nice job," Kevin tells him, but he has this weird look on his face that I'm sure Frankie can't read, then he nods to me and follows Joe out to the back of the church.

"What he really means," I begin to say, taking a place beside my younger brother and leaning in to whisper in his ear, "is she the best you can do?"

"Oh Nicholas," he says to me, wrapping his arm around the model's waist, "at least I've got a date today. Since when was the last time you've had a girlfriend, or, at the least, someone to hold hands with?"

"Of course he would pin that on me," I say as they leave for their assigned , I've only had around three serious girlfriends, the first having been a wildly successful Disney slut, the other was a freakishly popular tone deaf singer, and then there was 'you-know-who', but that's surely a hell of a lot better than having a string of has-been models as armcandy. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I would never, ever, admit this in public, but he's two points shy of being a genius. That's one point less than me. Clearly, I have a problem with that.

And, I also would never, ever, admit this either, but I'm sick of never having someone to hold hands with.

Stupid younger brother. Stupid size 2 girl.

Then, out of nowhere, the fifty-piece orchestra begins to play, and I take that as my cue to get moving.

"I need to get a lingerie model," I mutter to myself, and then, once I see two of the bridesmaids look at me suspiciously as they hitch up their dresses haughtily, I realize I need to stop muttering to myself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
"To Joe and Stella," my eldest brother says into the microphone, holding up his third glass of champagne, already half-empty, as he grins happily at the couple sitting at the head table, "it took you, I don't know, around twenty years, I think, to realize that you two really belong together, and no matter how many other people you dated before to try to ignore your feelings for each other, and may I remind everyone that that was a lot, you both are extremely lucky to know that you can always come back to each other, and know that even if there are plenty of gorgeous looking fish in the sea, you two will continue to love each other and annoy us with your lovable bickering, whether we like it or not. Cheers."

He raises up his flute, and the rest of the crowd in the grand ballroom reception follow suit. He finishes his in one gulp, which is more than what I can handle, and then goes to say, "you know, we've known Stella since we were kids, and to Nick and I, she is one of our best friends, a sister we never had, and the strictest stylist ever. To Joe, she is all that, and a whole lot more. He should be aware of how extremely lucky he is to have found his best friend, his first love, and his lifelong partner all in one person, and at such a young age as well. Take care of her, Danger, and Stells, just try to give more effort in putting up with him. God knows it's going to be harder now."

The room erupts in a sort of soft laughter, and though it seems like a joke to them, they have no idea how much work Joe really is. I should know, I've been having it for twenty-four years. Kevin raises his now empty glass once again to the smiling bride and groom, and exits the platform to sit down beside Danielle, who was busy keeping Adam both silent and entertained.

"Yes, thank you, K2, for your kind words for the bride and groom, and stay away from the bar" Frankie says as he takes the michrophone; why Joe chose him as the night's emcee after all the sneering and jokes he made about him, and, at times, Stella's bad choice in men, I'll never really come to understand. "Now,why don't we hear something from our favorite award-winning songwriter, that sound good? Come on down, Nick," he says, gesturing to me.

Go to hell, Franklin.

"No, you really wouldn't want to hear me talk," I say as everyone sitting around me begins to edge me forward to say a few words. "No, seriously-"

"Oh, come on, Nicky-"

"Carl, get off me-"

"Please, Nick," Stella pleaded, holding the microphone in front of her and Joe's table, and a little pout on her face, "you hardly talk anyway."

"It won't work this time, Stella-"

"Nick," my dad, Tom, expert manager whispers to me, leaning his seat forward as he feigns a smile for the rest of the room, "just say something; we don't need another riot."

"Since when did I start a riot?," I whisper back.

"Remember Adam's last birthday party, and all the kids asked you to sing for them, but when you didn't, they all started bawling out of control and throwing food all over the place?"

"That was a kid's party, dad, I think the people here would be more mature," I answer back.

"Exactly," he says, nodding his head to emphasize his point, "instead of cake, they'll be throwing around champagne, and we paid around nine thousand bucks for that."

"Why would they throw champagne-"

"Nicholas Jerry-"

"Well, what are you going to do to convince me?," I ask, smiling around as well as the audience gives us a confused look in unison.

"Well, I got an invitation from my friends over at New York," he starts out, "and they want you to perform at Madison Square Garden."

"But I've already done that-"

"Well, have you ever performed with Elvis Costello and Bob Dylan? No, I didn't think so," he says after seeing the idiotic-looking, appalled expression that is probably on my face at the moment. Damn Costello and Dylan for being so good.

"I want autographs," I hiss at him, before standing up, grudgingly, may I say, and approach the stage. I never really liked talking in front of crowd, that was more of the Kevin or Joe/'s thing. I was more of the music guy.

"Good evening, everybody," I begin, and I think I'm biting my lip hard enough for it to bleed. Crap, crap, crap; I hate public speaking."Mine won't be as, how do I say this,well,  
I don't know, but still, ummm, right."

My dad should be laughing his ass off right now. "Okay, well, Stella, whether we like it or not, was, is, and always will be there for me, as well as the rest of my family. She has that real, genuine desire to help everyone, or, at least, make them look as good as possible. Sure, she may have had a few missteps, like Van Dick- oh, it's Van Dyke? My apologies, and when it comes to her clothing, when the time comes, she'll do some evil stuff to you, but, no matter what anyone would say or do to prove otherwise, Stella is a wonderful, beautiful human being. Here's to you, darling," I say, clapping along with the rest of the crowd.

"Now, Joe, though I always say the opposite, is one of my heroes- yes, I know," I say when I see Joe's, and the rest of the room's, surprised faces. "I would never have admitted this if I were younger, but I realize now that I am jealous of my older brother- yes, I am talking about you, Joseph," I assure him again once I see his jaw drop and when he points at himself, as if asking a question. "I have never had the ability to just be myself freely, without a care in the world, whether the people around take it or leave it. I never really had the ability to make people really like me with just the first impression, nor have I really had the ability to make fun of myself. I have difficulty in being who I really am, and I envy you because you have always been comfortable with yourself, and you don't really care about what other people think. I know I keep on telling you that you should act more your age and the like, but that was because I thought that wouldn't make me as boring compared to you."

Joe puts a hand over his heart, and brings the other to his face, as if he were wiping tears away from his face, and then, damn him for it, he laughs and gives me a thumbs up. That's exactly what I was talking about.

"And," I say, raising my hand up again to silence the restless crowd; who are all probably now bored, "as a final note, I am jealous that from the very beginning, you knew who your true love really is, and though you have acted that you were the ladies' man among us Lucases, you knew your heart really was with just one person, even though it took you twenty-one years, yes, it's twenty-one, Kev, to come to terms with that, I still admire the fact that you had, and will continue to have, a lifelong best friend. Thank you, and cheers to the newlyweds."

I will never do this again. To hell with public speaking. As I take my seat amongst the clapping guests, Frankie is already blabbing away at lightning speed; he must have had a dozen or so Pixie Stix, probably taken from Adam.

"That was the President, ladies and gentlemen," he said excitedly, quickly clapping his hands, "vote for him in 2040, okay? Good, now, now, how's about we catch some garters and bouquets, sounds good, right? Okay, will all the bachelors and bachelorettes please step out onto the dancefloor, yes, Carl, that includes you-"

"What do you think you're waiting for?," my dad says, before holding my chair and pushing it forward, forcing me to stand up. Really, now, dad?

"I'll get you a meet and greet," he says in his sing-song voice, and I just concede defeat. I am hating him right now.

"Hey, President, move forward," Frankie says, waving at me wildly as I linger around at the back of the crowd. No way in hell; last thing I want to do is strap a garter around a random girl's thigh. Plus, I don't really want to see Joe pulling down the thing up-close; he and Stella sort of have a problem with hiding their affection. After a few minutes, there is a surge of whistles, hooting and cheering, and I know Joe has done his job. I move slightly to catch a glimpse of the couple, and I see Stella blushing profusely, and Joe grinning as he holds up the white, lacy, garter above his head. He has absolutely no shame.

He turns with his back towards the crowd, and throws it. All these guys seem to really want to get this thing, as they all push and shove to look for the seemingly lost piece of stretchy string. Actually, now that I think about it, where did it go?

"Hey, Nicky, what's that hanging at the back of your collar?," Carl says from behind me in his stupidly unusual high-pitched voice.

"What are you talking about?," I say, not bothering to face him.

"Here, lemme get it," he says, before he goes to pull something out of my collar.

"No, I'd rather that I do it," I say, brushing away his hand, then I go and reach for whatever is there. Then, I grasp a soft, sort of scratchy material, which I recognize to be the sort of texture lace has, and then I really begin to dread this. I pull it out quickly, and, to my horror, it turns out to be the stocking garter that was just on Stella's leg. Oh crap.

"JOE!," Carl yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to call my brother's attention, "Joe! Nick! He got it! He got-"

"Yes, I can see that," my older brother says, sharing the microphone with Frankie, and they're both laughing their heads off. I can't believe these people are my brothers.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter as I attempt to make my way back to my seat, but before I reach it, Kevin stops me, holding my arm. He appears to be serious, but I can tell he was probably rolling over in laughter just a few minutes ago, because his face is red. Or maybe that's because he's had too many drinks.

"No getting out of this one," he says to me, patting my shoulder lightly.

"Easy for you to say, you're already married," I reply.

He just chuckles again, and tells me, "why don't you see who catches the bouquet first, right?"

He turns my shoulder, forcing me to look towards the dancefloor and watch the ladies crowd around behind Stella. She flashes a sweet grin, then turns her back on them, and tosses the bouquet of white roses, dotted with small sky blue flowerets over her head. I notice the girls seem to be more mellow than the guys; I figured they'd be more, shall I say, overly-excited. There is still the screaming, of course, and the nose-diving towards the floor, but none of them seem too rowdy. However, I am still terrified.

"Who caught it?," Kevin suddenly says. I look up from my reverie, and see that the audience has thinned quite a bit. Some of them are even going back to their seats, with the scariest of expressions on their faces. I look back up at my older brother, who's even tiptoeing a bit just to know who is the 'lucky girl'. Hell, even I'm doing it.

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I leave him there to ogle at the group, and I stride quickly, but as discreetly as I can, to the stage to get a better look.

Joe and Stella must have really strong arms, because everything they throw always seem to land somewhere in the back. The remaining few people who stayed out on the floor looked around them to see who could've possibly caught the thing, and then, she appears out of nowhere.

Oh, God no. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Elections over here. Pretty wild. Thought I'd just mention it.**

**Title and story is based on the song 'She's Got You High' by Mumm-Ra. Should've probably mentioned the first time, but, oh well. Give it a listen, it's a killer song. This chapter's more of a really long conversation between brothers, it wasn't supposed to be, but I guess I went overboard again.**

**Hope you enjoy it anyway, I worked hard on it.**

It's her. That's definitely her.

Brown hair, slightly wavy and framing her oval face perfectly; slighlty tanned skin, a little darker from when I last saw her; bright, shining almond eyes, and a petite figure, complemented perfectly with a dark yellow burdois sort of top and a short leather tulip skirt with a black studded belt. A little casual and hardcore for a wedding, but she's gorgeous anyway. She's always been beautiful, in her own unique way.

"Macy?," Stella abruptly says, shoving me to the side. I stumble, and almost fall flat on my face, which I thank God no one saw. She doesn't know her own strength. As I get back on my feet, I look back up at her, and her mouth is wide open, her eyes are probably bigger than the 'O' that is her mouth, and breathing is a little shorter and quicker than usual.

The girl smiles, and squints her eyes slightly as she tilts her head to the side. Of course I would note everything that she would do.

"Hi Stells," she says in that addictingly gentle, angelic voice of hers, "sorry I'm late."

Stella shrieks, in joy, I guess, and attacks her with a big bear hug and several vague-sounding squeals. Macy calmly replies with a grin, and hugs back with almost as much force.

"My turn, sweetie," Joe says, carefully pulling his new bride away from her best friend, and then he gives Macy another hug, except a little more back-breaking, to which she answers with a soft "oof", before attempting to hug back as hard as she can.

"Glad you were able to make it, Misa," he says once he releases her, patting her shoulder gently.

"Glad you two finally tied the knot," she said, grinning as she brought the bouquet to her face, as if she was trying to catch it's scent.

"Macy of school?!," Kevin finally comes into the picture, pushing me aside (which everyone seems to enjoy doing so much now) to get a better view of the newcomer. I have to hold in my laughter, because he has that look of weird cluelessness on his face that I haven't exactly seen since high school.

"Kevin of JONAS," she says cheerfully, giggling that infectious little laugh of hers when Kevin proceeds to hug her as well, though not as hard or rough as the other two.

As I watch her go on to hug Frankie, my parents, who have finally gotten out of their seats, Stella's mom, and everyone else she recognizes, the more and more I want to grab her hand, pull her close to me, and wrap my arms around her. I want to breathe in her perfume, bury my face into her soft hair, kiss her forehead, and tell her I missed her, and how much I want her back.

But I can't. No matter how much I tell myself that I have to do this, I can't.

I walk away from the scene reluctantly, intending to go back to the tables, but I am once again pulled to the side my oldest brother, who still watches me with apprehension and seriousness.

"Don't wrinkle the plastic," I say, trying to pull my arm away from his surprisingly strong grip. He finally loosens his hold after a few minutes, and I am able to step away from him, but his stare doesn't falter. Funny, because he was acting like a teenager again a little while ago; now, he looks pissed as hell.

"Are you mad at me, or anything, because-" I try to say, but he waves his hand, shaking me off.

"No, no, just a little concerned for you," he says, putting his arm around my shoulder to direct me away from everyone, "I think I did have a little too much to drink, after all."

"You might have," I reply, desperately trying not to look him straight in the eye, "and what do you mean concerned? I'm doing fantastic."

"You know you never look me in the eye when you're lying, right?", he says, and he's smirking at me.

"You're one to talk," I say, glaring at him, "at least I don't sound like I'm part of Alvin and the Chipmunks when-"  
"Okay, okay," he says, waving his hand again, "I get your point."

I stare at him, spinning the garter around my finger. And then, I ask him, pretty absent-mindedly, "what were you doing here again?"

He glances at me, then he rests his arm on my shoulder, takes a deep breath, and says, "I think, I forgot."

"Good to know," I reply, trying to leave him, but again, he grabs my arm.

"I was kidding," he says, smirking,"you should know that out of all the people to take seriously, I'm not exactly one of them."

"I don't really have a lot of time for this-"

"No, I think you do," he says to me, "Stella's introducing her to everybody on the guest list, and you should know how long that is."

I freaking planned the list; of course I know how many people there are.

"Then why are you here?"

"I would think," he begins, rubbing his chin like the drama queen that he is, "that if someone had seen a person they hold very close to their hearts for the first time in quite a while,  
they would either be immensely hurt, angry like the devil, head over heels in love, or majorly effed up."

"Still not using the F word, huh?"

"I have a kid now, Nicholas, I wouldn't be the best dad if I did," he replies, waving his hand again, but with more flourish, "so, which is it?"

"Why would I want to tell you?," I ask him, trying to give him the most serious face I can.

"You're effed up," he says, giving me a knowing look, "you have all the symptoms."

"Did you read Cosmo again-"

"Dani never let's me buy Men's Health anymore," he replies indignantly.

"Well, what makes you think that you're the one I need to talk to?," I ask him.

"Well, Mr. Prez, for one, dad is way too busy thinking about the expenses for this wedding; we're over the budget by around ten thousand bucks, did you know that? Joe would never take you that seriously, and he would probably just make fun of you by posting this up on Twitter or something. And let's face it, Frankie's making the rounds. He's had more girlfriends than the three of us combined; he obviously wouldn't know how this feels. So, you're stuck with the married dude. You really don't have any other choice."

"What about Stella?," I suggest randomly.

"Do you want to die, Nicho-"

"Nevermind, forget I ever mentioned it," I cut him off, swinging the garter around my index finger again. What the hell am I doing?

He just stares intently at me, his hands deep into his pockets. He's never going to leave me alone.

"Do I have to do it?," I finally say, because his staring is just starting to creep me out, "I mean, I don't really have to put this thing on her, right?"

"You may be Nick Lucas, but you're not that powerful," he answers with a smirk. He's probably just upset that his stare just made me scared instead of making me think he knew something, "nothing will change ther minds."

"It's not like we have to do it," I say, but instead of coming off convincing, it appears to be more desperate than anything, "we looked it up in WikiAnswers to be sure, and it says there that it's not exactly a real wedding tradition-"

"But we all agreed that it would be fun," he reminds me, giving me another smirk, most probably just to get me pissed off, "and we wanted a fun wedding, remember? Well, actually, Joe wanted the fun wedding, but what the hell, right? It's his day."

"But-"

"You were all for it then-"

"I didn't know then that I was the one who was going to catch it," I tell him matter-of-factly, though I am sure it has no real effect on him. "Or Macy, for that matter."

"Well, what are you going to do about it? No getting out of this one, Nick."

"But I don't really feel the need to pull that stupid thing up her leg," I mutter, looking off again to the side.

"Nick?"

"What?"

"Not only are you lying," he says to me, shaking his head discreetly, "but now, you look like you've had as much to drink as I did. You're making this officially the best day I've had in a long time."

Damn him for taking such great joy in my personal downfalls. "I hate this stupid garter," I tell him, holding up the piece gingerly, "and I hate that stupid bouquet, no matter how pretty it is."

"Well, we did it at my wedding, and look at the people who caught them now," he says, then he nods slightly to my right. I turn my back to see Joe and Stella, giving one another quick pecks every thirty seconds to please the crowd. They still have no shame.

"I still think that was rigged," I tell him after seeing them kiss one more time.

"They still ended up getting married," he added.

"But I don't want to get married, much less to Macy," I reply, but even I'm not entirely convinced.

"If you're gonna keep looking away from me, I'm afraid I can't exactly help you-"

"Well, what are you going to tell me to do, Kev?"

"Well, for one-"

"That was a rhetorical question-"

"Too late, I took you seriously," he says, holding up his hand to shut me up, "why don't you just try talking to her?"

"I was afraid you'd be saying that," I say, running my hand through my wild curls.

I have great hair, don't I?

"Hear me out," he says, grabbing my arm so I am forced to withdraw my hand from my locks, "maybe she wants to talk to you too, but she's probably just nervous because she thinks you don't feel so accomodating to her right now. Why don't you save her from the agony, and just start up a conversation?"

"Why do I have to-"

"You honestly expect her to come up to you when the last time you two talked was a shouting match at the airport five years ago?," he points out, waiting for my reaction.

Oh, he's good.

"I just wanted her to stay," I tell him in the softest tone I can give, and I glance back behind me. Carl's doing his stupid clumsy robot walk behind her, and she's laughing along with Joe and Frankie. Am I the only one who finds that irritating?

"Well, there she is now. Take whatever chances you have, right? You might not get another one," he says, nodding his head again towards her.

"What if she doesn't want to talk, you know I don't like being rejected," I say, turning my attention away from her and back to him.

'Macy isn't the type to hurt someone on purpose," he comments.

"Doesn't make it any less painful," I reply, "but if ever I do go walk over to her, what are we going to talk about? She'll probably just go on and on gushing about how her new boyfriend is so much more buff than I am-"

"How are you so sure that she's fallen out of love with you, and she's fallen in love with somebody else?," he says, and for once, he makes me ponder and think, but not for the reason he thinks.

"Since when did you get so deep?," I ask him, and he grins toothily. I think he took it as a compliment.

"When you have a wife and a kid, it tends to affect the way you think a little," he informs me, grinning even wider.

"Huh," I contemplate after hearing his answer, "I thought it would be the high amount of alcohol in your system."

"It might be that too," he replies, patting my shoulder gently, "but it still made you think, right?"

"I guess it did," I say to him, and I'm pretty sure I'm fidgeting a little more than usual. Geez, since when did I fidget in the first place? "I still don't think I can do it-"

"Oh, come on, after that epic line?," he whines, and I'm sure that's a pout he's trying to make, "you're Nick 'gonna-be-president-in-thirty-something-years' Lucas! If you could survive in this music thing for more than ten years and still be busy, then I think you could survive a thirty minute chat with a girl."

"But this isn't just any girl, Kev," I tell him, shaking off what he calls his 'epic line', "this is Macy 'the-only-girl-who's-ever-caught-me-speechless' Misa we're talking about. I wouldn't even know what to say to her, and I'm not sure if she's really the girl that I really want to spend forever with, and forever's a long time, Kev-"

"Oh, she's the girl alright, Prez."

"That's just it, how are you guys so sure, and I'm not-"

"God, for someone who's three points from being a genius, you're pretty dense, Nick," he says, pulling me further away from the crowd before going on to say, "you yourself said that she's one of the few people who's ever had you speechless. Sure, you don't talk a lot, but you never have nothing to say. You say that she's the person you want to have kids with, so tell me, can you imagine a future without her in it?"

"Well, I-"

"No, I didn't think so," he finishes off before I can answer, "and we just know it, Nick. We saw it in you back then, when she first gave you that black eye that made you cancel the tour-"

"I didn't want to look like a pirate-"

"Don't interrupt, I'm on a roll," he says, halting me with his hand, "but you never really got mad at her, because you thought she was cute. We saw it when you guys were dating; you've never laughed as much as you did when you were with her, and you did your best work then. When she left, you were out of it for the longest time. I don't remember the last time you ever talked back at mom or dad like that since then. And Nick, admit it, you've tried, oh, God knows you've tried to get over her, but we all know how those attempts ended up. We're sure of it. Joe, Stella, me, Dani, well, Adam's not old enough yet, so," he says, ticking off his fingers, "mom, dad, God, even Frankie noticed. Trust me, Nick, we definitely don't want the Disney slut for you."

I look up at him, and I finally see that he's being serious. Deadly serious. But I'm just not buying it, even after what he'll call his 'epic speech'. It wasn't as life-changing as he thinks it is.

"Well, what am I going to tell her?," the pessimist in me asks out loud, "that I love her? That I miss her, and I want her back? That I'm sorry for being such an ass and making her want to leave in the first place?"

"Maybe you can do the last two, she'd probably agree-"

"Probably," I say, though I'm obviously not really comforted by it, "I don't really expect her to reciprocate any of my feelings."

"That's just it, younger brother," he says with a shake of his head, "you expect her to react a certain way. She's already proven that she's not one to follow the beaten path, right? You were the boyfriend, but she's the one who threw all those little surprises. Maybe she'll surprise you again."

A little more, K2. You almost got me.

"What if," I begin to say, "she doesn't surprise me, in a good way? I don't like losing; how am I gonna bounce back from that?"

He sets his eyes on me again, but this time, I really see the older brother and mature father in him. Deep.

"Then I'll figure it out with you," he replies simply, giving me a small smile. Almost, Kev.

"You would do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?," he says, his hands still stuck in his pockets, "I know you well enough to know that you're going to need someone on your side."

"You're willing?"

"There's no excuse for me not to be," he answers, smiling again, "and we'll have cake with Adam while doing it."

I'm sold. Nobody can say no to my nephew and cake.

I look back again, and watch her dancing around cheerfully with the flower girls. I must have been keeping everyone waiting, wasn't I?

"Staring at her won't do anything, but I have to say, I like that top she's wearing," Kevin observes randomly.

Time to get moving.

"Getting married was the best thing you ever did," I tell him, patting his shoulder, and he just nods knowingly, giving me a smile. I face back, take a deep breath, and-

"Wait, what kind of cake do you want?"

Really, now K2? "Do you really expect me to fail-"

"No, we just need to be prepared," he says, rather logically.

"Fine, lemon chiffon," I answer just at the top of my head. It's not exactly the best time to be picky.

"Not chocola-"

"Bye, Kev," I say, and then I leave him there.

I make my way through the crowd, ignoring a few girls, who are obviously not guests here, who tried to take a picture with me (how did they get through security?), and my very excited mother, and then, without me really knowing it, I'm right behind her. She giggles suddenly, and I forget for a split second for why I'm there. I could just stand there, and listen to her laugh and talk, like the way I used to.

Now, I realize how much of a sap I am.

But somehow, I'm okay with that.

I lean in a little, just enough to reach her ears, and then, I greet her the way I always do.

I blow into her ear gently.

She looks up, almost expectantly, and turns around slightly, enough for me to look intently at her. Aand then, a grin breaks out on her face, something I definitely did not really expect.

"Nick!"

"Hi, Mace."

**I am the first to admit that the stuff I write doesn't really have much a story for a backbone. I rely more on lines from the characters, and I'm not really sure if I'm that good at it. Ah, well. It's still fun.**

**I like reading comments. I wish I had more to read though. :)) I'm new on the block, so be gentle.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it took so long. I had it in my head, but when I wrote it down, it didn't make any sense. Had to revise epically. Hope you enjoy anyway. **

**Aqualung is mentioned, and he is a music man of huge proportions. Give him a listen. **

**JONAS slash JONAS LA will be epic. It should. I do not own, by the way. Who doesn't want to own it, anyway?**

**I actually had no idea what the hell I was doing, but please tolerate it. It was very difficult to do. **

**Knock yourselves out. **

God, help me.

"Nick!"

"Hi, Mace."

Hello? God, are you there?

"Wow, I didn't really expect to see you here," she says, with the cute sort of cluelessness that got me in the first place, and she raises her hand up to my face. I can almost feel her fingers graze the skin of my cheek, but then, she seems to change her mind at the last minute, and takes it back. Dammit, just a little more.

"Why wouldn't I be here, it's my brother's wedding-"

"Not what I meant," she says quickly, laughing at her own mistake, before continuing, "I mean, you know, I didn't really expect you to come up and greet me and all."

"Well, it's been quite a while since we've seen each other, after all," I reply, "and I missed talking to the former number one fan of JONAS, slash my best friend, slash my ex-girlfriend."

"Hmm," she says, a small smile forming on her face, "still very tactless."

"That's the songwriter in me, probably," I answer, returning the smile with an even bigger one, "did you know I won a Grammy-"

"Oh, keep quiet, Lucas," she said, giggling again at my vanity. "After five years, that's all you can come up with-"

"Actually, to be exact-"

"You counted it down to last second, didn't you?," she cuts in, looking at me knowingly.

"No," I reply, "but I did count it down to five years, six months, and fifteen days tomorrow."

"Of course you counted it," she says, nodding slightly, "still the same perfectionist."

"I had a calendar," I say, shrugging. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, more often than not, I was totally in love with it. Ish."

Was. She said 'was'. And 'ish'.

God, I'm still waiting.

"Listen, Macy," I begin, and I'm already feeling immensely apprehensive, "about the last time we saw each other-"

"I like the suit you're wearing," she butts in quickly again, gesturing to my Gucci tux.

"Don't change the topic-"

"Rubber looks very good on you," she comments, touching the fabric of my blazer, "you always seem to pull off things that aren't supposed to be worn in the first place."

Oh, she did not just say that.

"I resent that," I reply, but rather sheepishly; "and I presume it's pleather-"

"Pleather?," she asks me, giggling a little, "maybe plastic, but definitely not pleather-"

"Actually, it's a lot more comfortable than it looks-"

"You can't move in it," she points out my stiff positions and gestures. Doesn't prove anything.

"Sure I can move in it-"

"You can't even bend your elbow," she says, attempting to hold up my forearm back up. For a second there, her hand brushed mine. For a second, I felt an unwanted rush of giddiness and stupidity at the same time.

I love and hate that feeling.

"That's not exactly fair for you to say, I mean, it wasn't like I really wanted to wear this suit in the first place, Joe picked it out, and- you did it again," I say suddenly, shaking my head at her.

"Did what?," she asks me, playing with her hair.

"That, I mean," I try to begin, but she's freaking distracting me, "that stupid reverse hair flip."

"You mean, this?," she says, before demonstrating, tilting her head quickly, causing the side swept bangs on her forehead to move off to the side.

"Exactly."

"What's so wrong with it?," she asks me.

"When someone does it everytime they blink, it tends to get irritating for others," I reply, leaning forward slightly to look at her more intently. She still stands unfazed, even smirking at me, while I feel like I'm about to faint just from our close proximity. I can almost faintly catch a whiff of the soap she uses.

"It's just out of force of habit," she answers, and she does it again. That one was to annoy me, I bet. "I don't like having hair covering my face."

"So what's so hard with doing this?," I tell her, and before she can question me, I bring my hand up, and brush a few strands of hair from her face. She gives me a confused look, but doesn't make an effort to stop me.

Oh, God, I wish she did. I can hardly breathe now.

I also tuck her hair behind her ears gently, and lean down even lower, so I can whisper into her ear.

Oh, Jesus Christ. What the hell did I just do?

What am I supposed to say now?

"Umm, uhh, well, Kevin likes your outfit tonight."

"It's just something I put together," she answers, but she steps away from me, as well as putting her hand on my chest to push me back. Guess she's starting to feel the heat too.

"You know what," I begin, narrowing my eyes at her, "you said the same thing when I complemented you on that same exact outfit seven years ago."

"Oh, God," she says, and her eyes widen considerably, "you remembered."

"It would be unlike me to not remember the outfit you wore when we snuck out for the first time to attend a party-"

"Shhh," she says, pressing her index finger to my lips. I assume it worked, because I can't find my voice. "I still haven't told anyone, not even Stella-"

"Outfit repeater," I tell her, gathering all the courage I have to push away her hand from me.

"It's not even the same outfit," she defends, pulling at her skirt, "well, yeah, sure, it's basically the same design, and it uses the same kind of fabric, and, well, yeah." She's probably running out of things to say.

I'm winning.

"But, it's definitely not the same thing I wore before," she retaliates, "and why would you even remember something I wore seve-"

"Why would you make an exact copy of an old outfit?"

"'Cause I wanted," she replies, very indignantly, but I can hear the meekness.

"But why-"

"Because I felt good when I wore it, and I liked the way it looked on me," she replies, "it gives me good memories."

"Since when were you a pack rat, Misa?," I ask. I'm going to laugh any second.

"I'm not-"

"Oh, okay, I get it," I begin, with what must be a ridiculous grin on my face, "you wanted to preserve that outfit because I thought you looked insanely gorgeous in it-"

"I would so love to kick your ass right now," she says to me, "it's not because of you or anything, I just really like this dress, got it?"

"Yup," I reply, almost indifferently.

"Really?," she asks; I guess she wasn't expecting me to reply like I didn't care. And trust me, I don't care.

"Uh-huh," I begin to say, "but I'm gonna ask you one thing, though."

"And what's that?"

"Why would you wear that, of all the possible dresses, at a wedding, of all places to wear a party get-up?"

"Uhh, well there's a good explanation for that," she starts out, but she's not fooling me. A good explanation usually means something about wanting to impress your truly. "I didn't have anything else to wear-"

"Or, just maybe," I tease her, "you knew how much I liked it on you, and since you knew that I was going to be here, you wore it again to impress me-"

"Are you still that full of yourself?," she says indignantly, with her 'trying-to-be-mad-but-I-can't' look on her face. Still adorable, and still gets me.

"Might be," I reply, "remember the Grammy?"

"Yeah, yeah," she waves her hand dismissively, "but for your information, because you somehow need to puncture that big head of yours, I wore this because I had it made a while back, but I still haven't found the right occasion to wear it, and," she says, putting her finger on my lips again as I open them to butt in, rendering me speechless, "it's the dressiest thing I have. You can't really expect a figure skater to have a gown ready to wear, would you?"

"I think they should-"

"Well, I'm one of the few who don't, so deal with it," she replies with a huff, and another flip of her hair.

"Fine, but can I tell you something first?," I ask her, and she just tilts her head again. Damn her.

"What? Are you going to comment on how my hair still looks like it's been bleached-"

"I'll ignore the urge to criticize," I answer, shaking my head, but believe me, I really do have to urge, "and, just so you know, I still think you look unbelievably sexy. Just saying."

She glances at me for a split second, her lips slightly parted (that gets me every time) and her eyes widened, as if they were asking a question. She looks straight ahead, probably trying to watch Frankie flirt with his girlfriend, as well as trying to ignore the reddish hue she knows that's creeping unto her face.

"You're too old to be blushing," I tell her, lowering my head ever so slightly so that I can get a good look at her. She's still standing, staring intently at the Tank as he twirls the model around.

"That's a fairly unrealistic statement," she replies, finally looking back at me, but I can see that she's angry. I can hardly see her eyes through the slits. "I am entitled to blush whenever I feel like it, whether I want it to or not-"

"Yeah, especially when it's because of me-"

"You're still very full of yourself, there, Lucas," she says, absent-mindedly twirling a lock of her hair around her finger as she fans herself with her other hand. What a sad attempt to cool down. She's with the President, there's not really a chance for that.

"At least it's getting better," I tell her of my observation, "I mean, you'd look like a cherry back then-"

"The kind that came out of a jar, mind you-"

"Yeah, yeah, the fake kind," I say, waving my hand dismissively, "but now, you just look like a darker version of your Pinky Pinky Pink."

"A darker version of Pinky Pinky Pink?," she asks me with an eyebrow cocked, "that's not Pinky Pinky Pink anymore, that's just Pinky Pink-"

"Whatever the hell you want to call it," I cut in; I don't really care so much about what hue of pink you turn into when you get nervous, "I still find it adorable."

"Just saying?"

"Just saying," I reply, and I automatically feel the right corner of my mouth go up slightly. That only happens around her.

She clears her throat, fidgeting a little bit and still not making much eye contact, and says, "well, I guess, um...."

"You know, I can leave if I'm making you-"

"No, no, no, it's at the tip of my tongue," she stops me again, holding up her hand slightly. She straightens up, and says, "umm, thank you for appreciating the way I look tonight-"

"I didn't exactly-"

"But you implied it," she butts in, chuckling at 'my' mistake, and, for the nth time in this conversation, she makes my heart stop beating. After a good, thoughtful look, she finally allows the fingers of her perfectly sparkly-yellow manicured hands graze the skin of my face, starting from my forehead (she uses her knuckles to wipe away the sweat, like the way she used to after every concert), and going down to my jaw line. I control myself not to smile, because, funnily enough, I am a little ticklish in that area. "You look, umm-"

"Don't call me anything that pertains to plastic-"

"I wasn't going to in the first place," she says, patting my cheek lightly, "even though you do happen to pull it off nicely, but-"

"Can you step away, just a little-"

"Why? Feel like I'm going to give you a heart attack?," she asks me in a venomously (at least to me) sweet voice. Oh, the tables have turned. She giggles, and her fingers are oh so close to my mouth, and she just pokes my cheek gently, as if I were comfortable with it.

"Don't push it, Misa," I try daring her, giving the sternest glare I can muster up, but she just gives me one back.

She learned well.

"Well, Nick," she says, a grin spreading on her face as her index finger pausing right in the middle of my bottom lip for a moment. I forget where we are, and she seems to as well. But, just when I am almost fooled into thinking that things between us can go back to the way they used to, maybe even better, she finally seems to remember what she was doing, and who with. She shakes her head, turning her attention back to the crowd, and continues to say, "you're still Nick, baby faced Nick, who never seems to have any facial hair."

"I have to have a clean shaved face at all times," I say, but I guess she's not that into the chat anymore. Geez, even I'm not feeling it. "It sort of comes with the job."

She doesn't respond, and just inattentively traces circles on the flowers in her left hand. Great, now I remember about that.

"Is being Nick a bad thing?," I ask, but I don't really want her to answer.

She doesn't, but she gives me a smile that never really reached her eyes. That was a hell of a lot worse.

Nick Lucas will not cry, especially not in front of Macy Misa. I am not a wimp; I am a manly man.....

Sure, keep telling yourself that, President.

"Well, might as well take care of business," she says out of nowhere. She's still not looking at me straight, but at least she's not watching Franklin anymore.

"Huh?"

She smiles sadly, much to my distaste, and points to my hand. I looked down, and caught a glimpse of the stupid garter. Now I really wish I hadn't caught it.

"Okay," I say reluctantly, and I turn to walk up to the stage that I dread ever so much; but, once again, she surprises me, in an epic way. She reaches out her free hand, and I feel it coming in contact with mine. Her fingers find themselves in between the spaces comfortably, and lock themselves in place. I always find the way her small hand just seems to fit perfectly in mine somehow endearing.

"Might as well do this right, right?," she says, her hand clinging on tightly to mine, "I mean, it won't mean anything after, will it?"

"I don't think it works out that way, Mace," I reply, rather miserably.

She sighs, and murmurs, "I'm doing this for Stella. I'm sorry for being so melodramatic about this, but this is a lot more difficult to handle than I thought it would-"

"Can't we just talk about this? I have no problem apologizing if that's what you want to hear-"

"Everyone's waiting, Nick," she points out, "it's not really the best time."

"Macy-"

"Later, Nick," she says, before pulling me out of the area and unto the stage, where Frankie greets her with a peck on the cheek, and me with a pat on the head. Pixy Stix make you oblivious to the obviously uncomfortable environment.

"You two took quite a while," he says into the mike, chuckling as well, "catching up, eh? I see the sparks flying, literally. Well, no, not literally, but they still look cute together, don't they?," he addresses the crowd, who gives us a short applause. This is making it a thousand times harder than it already is. "Now, President, would you-"

"Yeah, yeah, Frank, let's just get this over with," I interrupt, pulling Macy along as we make our way to the center, where Joe sets up a chair. I have never been more afraid of a piece of furniture.

"Aawww, he just wants to get close to her," he says, cooing along with the rest of the audience as I help her settle down on the chair. I will never allow him to eat sugar again. She looks up at me nervously, but she adjusts herself, her back straight, one leg tucked behind the other, one hand smoothing out the wrinkles in her ridiculously short skirt, the other, gripping the stem of the bouquet that I am really beginning to hate (nevermind if I was the one who designed and arranged the stupid thing) .

"Drumroll, plea-"

"Frankie-"

"Sorry, Kev," he says, and it looks like he crashed right then and there.

I sigh, out of exhaustion more than anything else, and I glance back at Macy. She's still watching me, but I can tell that she's relaxed a little bit. Her fingers are tapping to the beat of the Phoenix song playing in the background, and, when she catches me staring at her, she actually dares to smirk a little, with a small shrug. She must be kind of tired too. I, quite reluctantly, kneel in front of her, and, being the ever so accommodating person that she is, offers her right foot.

I desperately try not to look up at her, grasp her size 6, cage heeled clad foot gingerly, and place the garter through. I'm not even halfway up her calf, and I can feel my breaths hitch up my throat. I forgot how toned, not to mention smooth, her legs were. I'm struggling just trying not to grip it too tightly, and I don't want to seem like I'm relishing or enjoying this.

Because I'm not. Trust me.

I reach up past her knee, and I realize a little too late that even though her skirt is already short as it is, it still covers most of the rest of her leg. After deciding that I could just stop below the hemline, she notices my dilemma (I wish she wasn't so observant), and, she gives me a small, mischievous smile, before gathering the fabric into her hands to reveal even more of her skin.

Oh, shit.

I bite my lip, making sure that I am looking somewhere else other than her leg as I gently clutch the lower part of her thigh (if that even exists), and finally setting the thing on its final destination, telling myself the whole time that this doesn't, and shouldn't, mean anything really big, even though I know I'll be fantasizing about this moment for a hell of a long time.

I take a huge sigh of relief, and I look back up at her.

She's smiling.

"Alright, former lovebirds sort of unite," Frankie cheers on, holding up a bottle of what looks like Mountain Dew, "I ain't legal yet, folks," he chuckles, but stops immediately once he sees the stern look on Kevin's face. "Okay," he clears his throat tensely, and goes on to tell the people, "umm, let's call out our very expensive friend, Aqualung, and- yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it, K2, gimme a second- and we are inviting everyone, that will include the bride and the groom, to go out on the dancefloor and bust some moves, yeah? Okay, I didn't mean it to sound like that, Kev-"

I watch her pull her skirt back down and uncross her legs, and offer her my hand. She takes it gratefully, and she gets back on to her feet gracefully. She smoothes out her dress again, not giving me another look; I am about to withdraw my hand from hers, but instead, she just tightens her hold.

"It was nice seeing you again, Nicholas," she says, shaking my hand.

Oh, God. She only calls me Nicholas when there's really something wrong. And she never shakes hands with anyone unless she has some sort of grudge with them.

"Can't we just please talk-"

"Macy!," Stella barges in, a look of sheer excitement on her face, "I want to introduce you to Logan, you know, the guy who I date, but had a crush on you? Oh, hi, Nick," she says cheerfully, turning her attention to me.

Oh, Stella. You still have the best timing, until now.

"Do you think I can borrow her for a minute?," she asks me, latching her hand on to Macy's tightly.

"But, umm, Stells, we're kind of-"

"Sure, I don't mind," I reply nonchalantly, but I give an effort to not sound cold. Macy fixes her eyes on me, but I can't seem to read the expression on her face. I that misery I see?

Her best friend squeals, jumping slightly and saying, "thanks, Nicky! I'll bring her back as soon as possible."

"Take all the time you need," I begin to say, but my new sister-in-law's already dragging her away.

Away from Nick Lucas.

I guess the guy's that good-looking.

I think I'm going to need that cake, after all.

**Man, that sucked a whole lot more than I thought it would. A hell of a lot. **

**Ah, well. Review. Will not take no for an answer.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I mention Logan Lerman as a favour for my friend, but he's not a big part of the story. I think I made the part with him a little longer than what I had intended, though. I just couldn't think of any other guy, and I think he's pretty cute anyway. I didn't want to make up some new character, I'm not very good with coming up with names, and it is a bit overdone. I thought, if I'm going to have someone have a crush on our favourite #1 fan, might as well put someone famous in there, right? It's freaking JONAS we're talking about here. If they had Emma Roberts on for the real show as herself, we can dream about LL, right? And I didn't want to put Bieber on (another personality another friend suggested). His voice is higher than Macy's (no offense to his fans).**

**Enjoy.**

**I repeat. Percy Jackson is just in there for additional info, to make it a little interesting. And because he's cute. But Nick FTW.**

I officially suck at relationships. Or friendships, for that matter.

I wasn't that convinced that I could actually get back on good terms with her anyway, but no, Kevin had to give me the world's most epic pep talk, and tempt me with lemon chiffon and a five year old kid who loves Justin Timberlake.

I don't think even God can cheer me up now. I think.

I am left shell-shocked on the spot a good five minutes or so after Stella and Macy leave to meet this guy who supposedly is better looking, and according to Joe, more jovial (since when was I not jovial ?) than me, and I find myself just staring at the spot she had just vacated.

"Nick, my man," Frankie randomly comes up to me, hanging his arm over my shoulder as he hands me a bottle of what I think is Budweiser or Heineken, I'm too lazy to distinguish the brand, "why didn't you get your groove on with her? She was practically begging for it."

"No she wasn't, Frank, and I really hope you're not drinking any of this," I say to him, giving the bottle to a waiter passing by.

"But that was for you," he mumbles as he watches the waiter give it to one of Stella's uncles, "do you know how hard it was for me to get that? Kevin wouldn't even let me near the buffet table without a chaperone-"

"It's your fault for stealing so much of your nephew's candy," I mutter; I'm honestly not in the best of moods. "Look, I'm gonna go get some cake, okay, Tank-"

"Why didn't you get Macy to dance with you?," he asks again, as if I had said nothing, "I mean, she looked like she wanted you more than ever then-"

"And why would you know that?," I ask him.

"Because I'm two points shy from becoming a genius, and I'm not as dense as you are," he says indignantly, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out another Pixy Stix, ripping it open with his teeth and emptying its contents into his mouth.

Of course he would be pinning that one on me. And I'm not dense.

"Well? Will you be reacting to that masterpiece of a statement, or what?," he says smugly.

"I can't believe we're brothers," I murmur quietly.

"What? Among the four of us, we're the most alike!," he says. He must think I'm not taking him seriously. "Well, yeah, sure, there's the fact that I am sort of smarter than you, and I'm not as stupid, but we're both ladies men, am I right? Well, no, not really, I've already kind of beat your record, but-"

"Why don't you go grab a drink with your girlfriend," I say to him distantly, before turning away to go back to the tables; who really cares if he's not of age yet? He sure as hell as likes he is.

"For the last time, she is not my girlfrie- oh, hey there, Natalia," he says once he sees his date walk up to him, "why don't we get some mocktails, maybe even a Cosmos, if we're lucky?"

I don't bother to hear the rest of their conversation, and I leave them to go back to my seat among the mass of others. Our little chat didn't even last a full half-hour, at least by my calculations, which are usually always correct, and I'm already contemplating the possibility of having a whole new album written on this ordeal alone, which will then go on to send millions of copies, and might end up winning another award, which is all sort of depressing, though I wouldn't really mind the last part.

It's not very comforting knowing that people think my best material comes from my worst experiences. It actually kind of sucks.

Some things aren't just meant to be manufactured and become part of the public domain, but I have a problem telling my-

"NICK! What the hell?," Kevin says to me as I finally reach their table and plopping down on a chair, completely ignoring the fact that Adam was sitting right next to him, squishing his chocolate cake to a pulp with his hands, "you're just gonna let her chitchat with that Lerman dude-"

"Is that his last name?," Joe suddenly chimes in, his arm linked with Stella's as they both walk in together, "huh. You didn't tell me you went out with the Percy Jackson dude."

"He was in that?," Stella asks, a look of surprise clear on her face, her eyes slightly wider, her mouth slightly open.

"Are you kidding?," he says, chuckling a little, "that was about the only thing he was in."

"Umm, actually, Joe, I think that was about the only thing you've seen him in," Stella replies, giving him a small smile, "you don't watch his stuff because you found out I dated him-"

"He's not that good an actor," he mutters, looking away from her.

"Oh, speak for yourself, honey," she says with a cruel tone, but a sweet grin on her face.

"Don't drag the poor guy into this," Kevin cuts in while he wipes the crumbs and icing off of his kid's face. "Anyways, Stella, aren't you supposed to be with them? You know, to like, facilitate?"

"Oh, you know what, turns out, they actually know each other," she says excitedly, and after seeing our stunned faces, she elaborates, "well, he was in Vancouver a few years back to shoot some movie, and at the time, that was where Macy was training. She accidentally shot a hockey puck at him; she brought him to the hospital, they started talking, and they've kept in touch since. But not recently, though, they've both been busy-"

"Okay, not that important," I barge in; they seem to forget that I'm still here, "I don't really care as long as they didn't date."

"Well, I actually think they would look pretty cute together- not that they would ever date," her tone turns from giddy to urgent once she sees the disheartened look on my face. "I mean, you know, I told him to not try anything on her, because she was waiting out for someone-"

"You shouldn't have done that," I reply tiredly.

"Okay, Nick, I'm kinda confused now, do you want her back or not, because I can tell him to-"

"I do, God, I do, but there's no point even if I tried anyway. She has a boyfriend, so that Logan can pretty much just forget about it," I say, and before Stella can retort with a lecture on how Macy should have told her, I go on, "and even if she wasn't dating anyone, we still wouldn't have a chance. We can't get past that last time we saw each other five years ago."

"And how would you know that?," she asks sceptically.

"She called me Nicholas, and she shook my hand," I answer, reliving the moment in my head.

"Is that it?," Joe says, "we do that a lot," he continues, gesturing to Stella and himself.

"It's a bigger deal for us," I respond, fingering my hair impatiently, "think of it like that time when you guys fought, and all Joe would do was Tweet out sad and angry smiley faces, and all the clothes Stella would design for him were either black or that nauseating neon, except it's a lot more depressing."

"Why didn't you tell us it was so serious?," Joe finally reacts, a flabbergasted look on his face.

"Don't make me feel worse than I already am," I reply quietly, embarrassed at his attempt to be concerned.

"What did you even say to her?," Stella asks me, ignoring my brother.

"Not anything significant, I answer, but she sort of touched my cheek and all, like before-"

"Aww," she swooned, resting a hand over her heart, "she'd always tell me how smooth your face was-"

"I guess she remembered what I said to her then, and that there's some guy waiting for her to come back after this," I say, disregarding Stella's outburst of giddiness, "so she's just avoiding me now."

"You're just over-thinking this now, Prez," Kevin says to me, all while tending to his son's chocolate icing covered shirt, "that was five years ago. Don't you think it's about time to stop thinking about that?"

"But I said some pretty crappy things to her," I reply, "and I haven't exactly said anything nice to her since then-"

"Well, Nick, you're going to have to be the mature one here," he says simply, wiping Adam's face with the table cloth, "why don't you go over to her, and ask her to dance? I know how much you both like Aqualung."

"My dancing is pretty much limited to flips and cartwheels," I answer, "and she's talking to someone, isn't that just being rude?"

"Technically, Nick, you were talking to her first, Stella just dragged her away. Then again, you let her, but still," my oldest brother says, and he appears to be thinking deeply. "And since when was Macy such a great dancer, anyway? You two can dance badly together."

"But didn't she win that dance contest-"

"Not now, Joe, I'm in the middle of making a point," he says, chuckling and waving his hand, "don't be so dim about this, President, she wants to work out the differences as much as you do, so why don't you give her the chance to-"

"Papa! He took my candy again!," Adam abruptly cries out, pointing to the thief. We all look towards that direction, and to no one's disbelief, we see Frankie already devouring the addictingly sweet powder.

"Okay, okay, I promise I'll make him buy you some more, okay? I'm talking to your uncle right now," Kevin tells him, ruffling his short, curly brown hair.

"But papa-"

"Okay, now back to you Nick," he says, turning his attention back to me, but I don't think that'll last for long.

"Kev, I think you should just take care of Adam, Nick will be fine," Stella says uneasily, seeing the boy's eyes getting a little teary.

"Yeah, K2," I say anxiously as well, once I get a glimpse of my nephew, "don't worry, your daddy will force your Uncle Frankie to buy ten more packs, okay?," I reassure him, reaching over to tap his head lightly.

"But Nick-"

"I'll be fine, nothing a little alone time with a guitar can't fix," I say to encourage him, and being honest, I don't like seeing little kids cry anyway. It doesn't really lift my spirits up, especially now, for obvious reasons.

He glared at me doubtfully, and after a minute, finally said to me, "fine, but it's your loss. I had something totally epic in mind." He gets up from his seat, leans down, lifts up his son from his seat and into his arms, and says, "Joe, you give him the pep talk-"

"What?," my other brother whined, pulling Stella even closer to him, "why do I have to-"

"I'm kinda busy," he replies, coaxing Adam to wrap his arms around his neck so that he would not fall, "and who else am I gonna ask?"

"What about me?," Stella asks with a sugary tone, "I mean, she is my best friend, and I know all about the girl mind."

Kevin, Joe and I all ogle at her for a second as she tightens her grip on her groom, and he sighs out of frustration and says grudgingly, "fine, but I have no guarantees that what I'll say will even matter to him."

"Good man," Kevin says to him, thumping his shoulder lightly, and then walking off to look for Frankie with a weepy Adam in his arms.

I look over to Joe, and I am not all that surprised to see him already fidgeting restlessly, squirming around as if he wanted to go to the bathroom, which he probably does, and muttering endlessly to his bride, and she just gently hushes him.

Okay. Time to get moving. I mean, it's not like I'll be convinced, right?

But before I can even fully get up from my seat, she pushes me back down, and says, "Joe has something totally mind-blowing in his head-"

"Usually, when I have something mind-blowing in my head, it has something to do with the Governor," he tells her, referring to his love for anything with the Schwarzenegger.

"Do you want me to be the one to talk to him-"

"Why don't you get a Virgin Cuba Libre, honey?"

"Isn't that just Coke?," she asks, a confused look on her face.

"We all know that when you get any alcohol, it's Kevin times fifty," he replies, taking his arm away from hers. "I'll just talk to him. It won't take more than five minutes."

"You think you'll convince me in five minutes?," I ask him, not believing him for a minute.

"Nope, five minutes before I quit on you, li'l bro," he answers, taking the seat next to me, "go on, Stells, it's not like either of us can do this."

She watches him, appearing to be quite uncomfortable, and leaves hesitantly after around a minute. He shifts in his seat a little, then turns his attention back to me, and says, "I honestly have no idea in hell on how I'm going to do this."

"Okay, well, congrats on getting married, bro," I say, standing up, "hope you have a great life together-"

"Nick, sit your ass down," he says, grabbing my arm and pushing me back down to the chair. "I get it that you're kinda mad at me-"

"I am not mad-"

"You can't kid with me," he cuts me off, shaking his head, "I mean, I know that you're happy for me and all, which reminds me, I really liked your speech, it made me feel important," he says, laughing and tapping the table lightly.

Do I really have to trust this guy?

"But," he says, snapping out of little reverie and glancing at me seriously, "you're gonna have to cut the crap, Nick. We all know how much you wanted this for yourself, and you were so determined to do it before Stella and I did-"

"I sort of meant it as a joke-"

"Didn't mean that you wouldn't take it seriously," he says, "you think you're all about work and your music, but you're not fooling me, President, you want to get married too, whether it be with Macy or not-"

"Which I don't-"

"Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that," he tells me, waving his hand, "you want your happy ending as much as any other sap and chick flick geek out there. Nothing wrong with that."

"I know there isn't," I say to him, and I'm really just giving him the benefit of the doubt now, "but I can't exactly just walk over to her and ask her to dance-"

"Why not?"

"Because she's sort of talking to someone, if you didn't notice," I say, pointing out to the two, who are now apparently attached at the hip.

"So? That never stopped me, now look at where we are," he said, gesturing to the ballroom. He grins smugly, and now all I want to do is punch him in the face.

"I can't, not after all the flack I gave her then-"

"Geez, Nick, can you just stop being a baby and talking about something that happened five freakin' years ago-"

"Not when that something you're talking about ended with her leaving on an airplane, without even bothering to contact me for the next five years, and me bawling in my car and thinking what could've happened if I didn't try to stop her and just shut my pie hole-"

"Are you like this with Kevin?," he asks, and I can see now that he's really pissed now.

"I dunno," I begin to say, trying to not meet his eyes, "it's not like I've ever thought of what I say before I actually say it."

He stares at me for a minute, then he wails out of the blue and lays his head unto the table. "Being an older brother is hard."

If K2 can do it, then why the hell can't you do it?

"Look, Nick," he mumbles as he leans his elbow on the surface, and resting his face against his hand in an attempt to keep upright, "you know you've wanted Macy for God knows how long, eight years-"

"Nine in September," I say, reminiscing my high school days.

He stares at me again, and says, "didn't really need to know that, but okay..."

I didn't really need to know when you and Stella first kissed, when you first argued, or when you first discovered you both loved Daniel Craig like no one's business, but I listened anyway.

"President," he snaps his fingers, noticing that I'm not really paying attention to him anymore. After giving him a quick glimpse, he goes on to say, "you've loved the same girl for almost a decade- decade's the word, right? Yeah, well, you're gonna throw all that time away, all that time spent not dating other people, just because of a fight that barely lasted ten minutes?"

"Well, what I said in those ten minutes were the last things I've said to her until now," I tell him, tapping my fingers on the table, "and that's a long time to mull over something. And that something happens to be just a huge load of crap on her-"

"Come on, it couldn't have been that bad-"

"I made fun of her dad, Joe," I say to him, and I'm pretty sure that it was a little louder than what I had intended, because the tables next to us give me a collective stare.

"You did that? But-"

"Can you not give me any crap for what I did, because I am fully aware of how wrong it was," I retort, before he even said anything, "I know how hurt she must have been, and I think I would have an idea of just how much she loved him, because it was on my shoulder she cried on during the funeral."

"But I wasn't gonna give you any sort of crap, Nick," he tells me, knocking on my head lightly, "out of all the people, you should know that I'm the one who would relate to you the most."

"Why-"

"Stella and I have been through a lot more than you think," he says with a slight nod. "You were put in a difficult situation, you can't exactly just blame yourself."

"But I imagine she can't exactly just forget about my little outburst, unintentional though it may be," I say, and I feel even more horrible now than what I had initially felt, "I was a complete asshole to her-"

"You were a complete asshole."

"Way to make me feel better, Danger-"

"Not what I meant, President," he says, halting me with a hand to my face, "I mean, you were one, but that was then. It doesn't mean that you're one now."

"It's not like a person can change in five years-"

"Really? Take a look at Kevin," he says, pointing towards the oldest Lucas brother, who was telling off the youngest of our family, and his son sleeping peacefully in his hold. "He hasn't talked about ducks or otters in the longest time."

"Well, that's sort of different-"

"Nick, I'm pretty sure that you've changed since then" he tells me, "plenty can happen in a year times five. We know that you've been through a lot, excluding the Grammy," he says, reading the brainwaves that he thinks are coming from me, "and I'd like to think that she's changed quite a bit too."

"But she has a different life now, not to mention a different boyfriend-"

"Wasn't that the point I made just a while ago?," he says, a little disappointed that the message didn't really come through as clear cut as he wanted it to, "you're telling me that she has a new life, but how are you even so sure? I don't think you even have half of of the story. Why don't you let Macy just explain herself? Maybe ask her dance?"

"But what if I don't like what I hear? You know I don't take things lightly."

"Well, if you think you really love her enough, don't you think you owe it to yourself and to her to give it another shot? I know that she wants to try."

"I thought loving someone was knowing when to let go," I say, remembering the fortune from the cookie I had gotten a few days back.

"Well, you tried that, and look where it's gotten you," he says, chuckling, but he turns serious again once he sees that look on my face. "You should know that there are never any guarantees, and there never will be, but nothing's going to happen if you don't try, right?"

I give him a little knowing glance, and then I sigh and chuckle, somehow at the same time; getting married seems to be the best thing that ever happens to a Lucas.

"How many minutes has it been, Prez?," he asks me after around a minute, eyeing my watch.

"Around four and a half," I answer, looking down at my left wrist.

"Mission accomplished," he says, slapping the table as he gets up from his seat.

"How do you know it's accomplished?," I call out after him as he walks away.

"You're not asking anymore questions, are you?," he asks, turning to look at me. He's got his swagger thing going. I hate that.

"Well, no-"

"Mission accomplished," he repeats, this time even louder, as he makes his way to the bar where Stella is arguing with the bartender, "now, I think I'm gonna get me some Virgin Cuba Libres-"

"You said that was just Coke," I say to him.

"It has lime too," he answers back, matter-of-factly, before breaking up, or at least, attempting to calm down, the little word war the drinks mixer and his wife.

I tap the surface of the table, chuckling to myself as I contemplate his words.

Two successful pep talks from my two brothers. Maybe God is loving me right now after all.

I get up from my seat as well, and because most of the crowd had gone out to the dancefloor, it was considerably much easier and took much less time to get to the other side of the room. I see Macy (and this Logan person), chatting away just around a few feet away from the empty head table, and I can't help but notice that she's swaying to the beat a little, but very subtly. Her hips were moving from side to side, and her waves are gently bouncing from her shoulders.

I bet Logan wouldn't be able to see that on the first try.

I walk up right behind them, but because the music's volume was a little louder than what I had expected, I yell out while holding out my hand, "Hi, Logan, that's your name, right? I'm Nick."

"Oh, hey," he replies, bellowing as well, taking my offered hand and shaking it briefly, "you're from that band, JONAS, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I have my own solo career now-"

"Yeah, that's good to know," he says, turning away from me. How courtious. "Now, Mace, why not Friday night?"

"Sorry, but I'm sort of seeing someone right now," she replies with a sweet smile to him, then she gives me a confused look. I just shrug in reply.

"Huh," he says, sounding a little defeated, "how come every time I want to date you, you're already going out with somebody?"

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely, before he pulls her into a hug (that guy better watch it), to which she responds with a quick peck to the cheek (what?). "Maybe when I'm available."

"It was nice seeing you again," he says, grinning at her once they separate, "keep in touch."

"I will," she tells him, before he smiles and goes off into the floor to look for a dance partner.

"Huh. He didn't say bye to me," I observe as he grabs some random girl's arm and dances with them.

"What are you even doing here?," she asks loudly, turning to face me, "I told you that this isn't goinng to work-"

"No, you didn't, at least not directly," I tell her, stroking my finger against her chin lightly, "and I was sort of wondering if you would like to dance-"

"You? Dancing? Are you sure?," she says apprehensively, stepping away from me as I attempt to touch her face again. Dammit. "And I don't think that it isn't really going to solve anything, Nick, and I-"

"You heard that?"

"What the hell-"

"You called me Nick again," I say, taking a step forward. She tries to step back, but instead comes in contact with the table, so I take the opportunity to lean forward even more, trapping her with me.

"That's not anything big-"

"But it's a start," I tell her, leaning in even more. She blushes profusely again when the tip of my nose brushes, accidentally, mind you, against hers for a second, and I find myself trying hard not to laugh.

I like it when she blushes.

"Hi. I'm Nick Lucas," I say, backing off a little and offering my hand for her to shake.

She looks at me, as if I were crazy, and says, "I already know who you are-"

"You knew who I was," I correct her, "now, I'd like to introduce you to the new Nick Lucas. One, hopefully, that you'd like."

"I don't really get you," she says to me, looking a little dazed.

"Five years may not be a very long time, but it's enough for a person to realize their mistakes and change," I tell her, staring her straight in the eye, "I know I've seen mine, and I know I'm not that same person from the airport. I'd like for you to know me again."

"But Nick-"

"I'm pretty sure that a lot has happened to you too," I say, "even if you train in an ice rink six days a week, I don't expect you to just stay cooped up there. I'm sure you've done plenty of stuff, and you're not exactly the same number one fan anymore. I'd like to get to know the person I've been missing all these years."

"But you haven't been missing anything," she tells me, smiling sadly, "I swear."

"Really? Now that I'm really looking at you, I feel like I'm with someone I don't recognize. You keep on giving me pity smiles. The Macy I know has smiles that are brighter than sunshine," I say, suddenly missing the way she'd bite her bottom lip after every grin she'd give me. I shake it off, and I offer her my hand again, "hi, I'm Nick Lucas. Can I have a dance?"

She must think I'm crazy now, doesn't she?

But to my surprise, and this was a hell of a surprise, she takes my hand and weaves her fingers through mine and says, "I'm Macy Misa, and I would like dance, that is, if you think you can keep up."

"Oh, I think I can," I reply with a little smirk, to which she answers with a little bite of her lip as she drags me out unto the dance floor.

Oh damn.

**This was loooooooonnnngggg. **

**Favourite part of that chapter? Kevin and Adam. :)) I always imagine him to be an awesome daddy.**

**Fun Fact: this was actually supposed to be just a really long one shot, but writing in Nick's perspective is way too much fun, so I made it a little longer. Though, I only plan two more chapters or so, I don't plan on making this a full-fledged story. Hope you stick with it anyway. **

**Review. Come on. Review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**OMG. I DON'T WANT TO BE IN TROUBLE. Thanks to ink-stained-frenzy for pointing that out. :)) It took a little longer than expected, but I hope you people enjoy it. It was actually pretty hard to write, and considering the little time I have left, I had to hurry it up. I expect two more chapters, one of them being an epilogue, I think. Just to remind myself, this story takes place in one night. Pretty long, eh? :)) **

**I don't own anything, like everyone else.**

I'm on a new high now. A totally new high.

I'm on the dancefloor, certainly not dancing, but my arms are tightly wrapped around Macy Misa's waist, who happens to be the girl that I've been dreaming about since who knows when, her hands are wound around my neck, pulling me even closer to her than I already am so I can almost feel her heartbeat on my chest, and my feet are moving to the beat of a live rendition of Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung himself.

I am really, really loving this right now.

"We haven't done this in quite a while," she points out, and I can feel her fingers playing with my hair. I bite my bottom lip discreetly, hoping it will stop the goosebumps.

"That we have not," I reply, and I look down into her brown eyes, the only pair I can honestly just stare into and immediately be reminded of chocolate. Why can't mine be like that?

"Do you remember the last time we did this?," she asks, and I'm finding it even harder to focus now because she keeps wrapping her hands with my curls.

"That I do," I say, thankful that she finally lets her hands fall unto my chest, but then my heart speeds up again because now her fingers are tapping to the song, "it was just a few weeks before you left for your training. It was during an after party for the VMA's, and Rooney was playing. Some jerk spilled his drink all over you in the middle of 'I'm Shakin'-"

"Wasn't that Joe?"

"Some jerk spilled his drink all over you," I repeat, emphasizing my point, "so you had to borrow one of my shirts because you smartly did not bring any extra clothes-"

"I thought we were going home after," she defends herself, a red tinit creeping up on to her face, "how was I supposed to know that you guys reserved rooms in some hotel-"

"That was the Ritz-Carlton, it was very expensive-"

"Right," she says, smiling cheekily.

Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die.

"And you stayed the night, with yours truly, of course, because I could've killed Joseph when he offered to let you sleep in his room to make up for his spill-"

"He meant that as a joke," she says, giggling again at my over-protectiveness.

"He was talking to me, Mace," I tell her, "you know how I am, especially when it comes to you-"

"Aww," she says, "I have a little stalker."

"Well, stalking only got me so far," I reply, giving her a little smile. Definitely not rare, at least around her. "So, Olympic figure skating team, right? I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks, but you know what," she tells me, and she's smiling, but she looks a little depressed, "there's nothing exactly to be really proud of."

"I don't understand," I reply, narrowing my eyes at her.

"It's kinda complicated-"

"I feed on anything complicated, I'm a songwriter," I tell her, tightening my grip on her as she proceeds to hold on to my neck, "do tell."

"You might make a number one hit out of this," she jokes, grinning and showing off her perfect, pearly white teeth.

"I wouldn't do that to you," I answer, ignoring the urge to just kiss her full on the mouth and get this over with, "now, go, tell me what happened to you."

She looks at me apprehensively, the grin gone from her face, then she drops her stare and says, not in a sad tone, but definitely not happy, "I'm sorta out of the team."

"What?," I question, "why are you out of the team? Did your boyfriend kick you out?"

"Well," she starts out, her head snapping back up, and a faraway look in her eyes, "in context, he kind of did-"

"You want me to kick his ass for you-"

"No, that won't really be needed," she says, laughing softly, "besides, it was actually my choice to go."

"So he kicked you out, but you wanted to leave?," I state again.

"It's actually reversed, but yeah, in a nutshell," she confirms, and she continues, presumably because of the bewildered expression on my face, "the thing is, I wasn't supposed to be here today. I was actually on my way back to Vancouver, for an exhibition thing to determine who was really going to be on the team."

"They do that?"

"I dunno, but they did," she replies with a shrug, "anyway, the day for the departure was the same day as the wedding. So I tried to convince Enzo-"

"Enzo?," I ask, "that's your boyfriend?"

"If by boyfriend, you mean the coach that I dated for a year and gave me a lot of expensive stuff, then yes, that's him."

"Huh," I exclaim, "he has a strange name."

"He must be Asian or something," she says with a little tilt of her head, "so I asked him if I could just skip out and come here, because, you know, it's my best friend's wedding."

"So, he let you go?"

"Quite the contrary," she says, and I can hear a faint trace of bitterness in her voice, "he was very adamant on not letting me leave. He told me that I couldn't just waste five years of training and just throw it away all because someone I knew was getting married."

"So, how exactly did you get here?"

"Well, it wasn't really easy," she begins, her hands tightly bound around my neck, "I've been hounding him about it since yesterday, but he really wouldn't hear of it. I tolkd him I wasn't going, and that I would stay put here, so as an attempt to go against it, I didn't pack a single thing."

"He ended up packing it himself," I take a wild guess, and with Macy, it's usually not wild.

"That he did," she answers simply, "but I tried, right? So we were already in the airport when I ripped my ticket, and told him that Stella would always be important to me, more than him, and more than making the team."

"What a rebel," I say, chuckling a little. I find it funny, yeah, but only because she hardly ever fights back or gets mad.

"Yeah, and you know what?," she resumes to say, "it felt so freaking good."

"Right, real proud of you, Misa," I say to her, the right corner of my mouth going up slightly. That again, huh.

"Unfortunately, that got him really pissed, so he said, if I wouldn't go to Canada, I not only lose my chance to go to the Olympics, but I would lose him too," she says rather quickly, as if she wanted to get it over with quickly.

"What the hell-"

"Yeah, I'd rather not repeat it, Nick," she says.

I give her a good look, but I can't seem to tie it all 's telling me that she just lost an opportunity to get her biggest dream, and possibly, her dream guy, who just might be Asian; but instead of looking downtrodden and depressed like any other person would be, she's kind of sunshine-y. Literally. She's glowing. "So, I guess I know what you picked."

"That you do, I'm afraid," she says.

"I'm sorry your boyfriend's such an ass-"

"Me too," she replies, and I'm trying so hard not to let my hands fall lower down her hips, "if he won't let me go to the wedding of my best friend, who is already practically my sister, after he trained me half to death six days a week-you know, I can't remember the last time I sat down during a training session- he was hell to work with. And he pretty much sucked as a boyfriend-"

"What about all the expensive stuff?"

"Oh, those. That was all actually just things he bought for himself," she replies, laughing a little as she recalls, "there was the Omega watch, which was still loose even when I wore it on my ankle, the clothing from Topman-"

"You look very good in men's clothing, especially when it's mine-"

"Yes, I am aware of that," she says, smiling, "plus, there was the Hummer. Then again, I didn't really mind that one, but he ended up using it more than I did."

"I'm still sorry," I tell her, giving her an apologetic face.

"I've been with better men in my life," she says, shrugging again, "no regrets."

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking which men in particular, and I continue, "not about him. I'm sorry you lost your chance to finally get that gold medal-"

"Oh, no, I'm not upset-"

"But you've been training for more than half your life for that, and I'm not trying to add insult to injury, but you kinda gave up your shot at it-"

"I'm not upset, Nick," she reassures me, smiling slightly, "I play twenty-three different sports, I highly doubt that I can't get into the team for something other than ice skating."

"But-"

"And besides, I was getting tired of the ice," she continues, shushing me, "I was starting to miss the basketballs and badminton and tennis rackets. Macy Misa wasn't meant to just participate in one athletic activity."

"I am somehow not really all that convinced," I say, still trying to convince myself that there is some sort of hesitancy in there somewhere, even though she's clearly expressing that there is none.

"Ah, well, since when do I ever do?," she says dismissively. Ouch on my part. But I am pulled back into bliss when she momentarily sets her hand on my cheek and asks me, "so, what has Nick Lucas been up to"

"I went solo," I reply, and I mean it in more ways than one.

"Don't you go implying me in this," she says, giving me a knowing look, "but what really happened to JONAS? Stella never really told me the whole story."

"Simple," I start out, "when Kevin had Adam, we all figured that being out on the road six months every year, and spending the rest working and recording didn't leave him much time to be a dad; trust me, he tried, so we decided that JONAS has had its time."

"And it was very well spent."

"Yup," I agree, "so, he juggled being an all around family man with being an all around entrepreneur, such as mass-producing the Velcro Christmas Tree for kids, as invented by Conan O'Brien, kinda surprised that Coco agreed to it-"

"Will you laugh if I say I have one?"

"No, because I have the mini version in my apartment," I quipped up in a hurry, "anyways, Joe went on to becoming a blockbuster-starring, and one time Oscar nominated actor, and he got married-"

"I know that much," she says, and with a sweet smile, she goes on to say, "I kinda miss JONAS."

"Well, we miss our number one fan," I say, chuckling quietly, "especially me, 'cause, you know-"

"Yeah, I think I do," she says, returning the laugh. Infectious, adorable, addicting crap, that's what it is. "But I wanna hear about you."

"Well," I begin, thinking, "on the fourteenth of February, four years ago-"

"Don't you have anything to talk about besides the Grammy?"

"Not really. That was pretty much the highlight of the last five years, I don't really have anything going for me," I reply, "life went on, quote endquote, I went solo, recorded two albums about this girl, which you really don't need to know about," I say uneasily, eyeing the cheeky look she's giving me. "And, well, that's pretty much it. No girl, not any that stood out anyway."

"How many did you date?"

"Well," I try to recall, going through the list mentally, "there was Mandy, Amy, Abby, Chelsea, Penny-yeah, again-Jenny, Gabbie, Erich, Kim, Nikki, Zoey-"

"So," she cuts in, "just a few girls, huh?"

"Yeah, just a few," I say, shrugging.

"And you don't think any of them will ever be good enough for you?," she asks me a little too casually.

"I dunno," I tell her, "but I'm sure that none of them will ever be as good as you. Just saying."

And, to my slight disappointment, she doesn't blush, but then again, to my great joy, she giggles lightly, and gives me a small smile.

"You're not turning Pinky Pink," I note out loud, but I can't help but cherish that little smirk she's giving me.

"What? You expect me to blush whenever you compliment me?," she says, closing the space between us a little more as if she were threatening me.

It's sort of working.

"Would you step away a little," I ask, noticing that our noses are almost touching again. It's not that I don't want to be close to her; it's just that I tend to get a little light-headed, and stuff that shouldn't be mentioned comes out of my mouth without me thinking through them.

"Why? Do I make you nervous?," she asks sweetly, prodding her finger on my cheek.

Hell yeah. "No, I just need some space."

She raises an eyebrow, but she obliges and leans back a little, saying, "whatever you want, Lucas."

I get a little glimpse of her face, and I'm a little surprised to see that her her eyes are looking down, her smile looks a little flat, and one of the corners of her mouth are twitched up, like the time she found out someone else had gotten the spot in the soccer team to go to Madrid.

Oh, dear God. I wanna die.

"Why are you biting your lip?," she asks, noticing that I'm biting down on my bottom lip, and trying very hard to not show it.

"I'm not biting anything,"I say while desperately trying to avoid her gaze.

"Nick, even your own nephew knows when you're lying-"

"Right, I keep on forgetting about that," I say, looking back at her, "I guess it's from the pineapple, you know how itchy my mouth gets when I eat some-"

"Is it because of me?," she says, mimicking me and biting her lips as she smiles as well.

"Oh, so it's your turn to gloat now," I mutter quietly, chuckling again.

"Yeah, it sort of is," she says, her smile growing even wider, "so? Under my spell or what?"

"Ah, well, since when was I ever not?," I answer, disappointed with myself.

She grins in return, and says jokingly, "don't get your hopes up."

"I know," I reply, though I think it turns out to be more serious than I intend it to be, because she drops her smile, "I mean, that's why I have this ring, right?," I say, gesturing to the purity ring, still not gone at twenty-four (what an embarrassment) placed on the ring finger of my left hand. "And besides, you're kind of over me, so what's the point of hoping?"

She stares at me seriously, a small, sort of sad smile playing on her lips, and her fingers stroking my cheek lightly. I feel myself tingling, but I ignore the urge to tremble, or any action similar to it. She wipes off something close to my mouth, leans in even closer than the first time, and says, "you know what, Nick? I think this is the first time that you have been completely and utterly wrong about me."

Huh? What did she say?

"Umm, but Mace," I try to begin, but before I can get another word out, she brings her face even closer, so our noses our practically rubbing each other, her hands are in my hair, the curls wrapping themselves around her fingers, and her eyes are closed shut. I think she's trying to kiss me. I want to think that she's trying to kiss me. I want her to. Damn, I want her to.

I want to give in. Damn it, I'm gonna give in.

"Should I-"

"Yeah, I don't mind," she answers, before she leans in a little more, and her top lip brushes against mine ever so lightly, for less than a second.

Oh, holy shit.

I almost lean in, I almost give in, I almost kiss her back, but I don't.

Not because I don't want to. It's because Stella, God bless her heart, barges in, giving me an apologetic face, and says, "sorry, God I'm sorry, Nick, but there's someone who wants to see Macy. He says he won't stop taking the stuff off the tables and leave if she doesn't talk to him."

"And who is this guy," I ask, releasing my hold on her and stepping away, ruffling my hair in frustration. She points out to the main entrance of the ballroom, and standing there, either talking or arguing with Kevin and, surprise, surprise, Frankie, is a tall, jet-black haired, muscle-y guy who looks like he can dance a mean tango.

"Oh, God, no," Macy says, looking over as well. When a Misa looks apprehensive, it usually doesn't mean anything good. She looks over to me, and says, "Nick, I'm so sorry, I'll get rid of him-"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, smiling, but I can't help but feel disheartened. The guy's around a head taller than Kevin, therefore he's taller than me, and he's kinda macho. I am supposed to compare to this guy, but how? "I presume that's Enzo."

"You presumed correctly," she says nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't know he was going to follow me here-"

"It's fine," I say, but hell, it's not. "Don't rush it."

She nods quickly, and sprints in her four inch heels to this Enzo dude, how women walk in those things it's a wonder, but I forget about it and turn to Stella, saying, "I'm screwed."

"You are not screwed," she tries to assure me, patting my shoulder.

"Yeah, I am," I counter, "her boyfirend-"

"Ex-boyfriend-"

"There's never any difference anymore," I say, waving her off, "he's gonna apologize, she's gonna forgive him, they're gonna get back together, and live happily ever after. It happens in every chick flick I've seen."

"You, apparently, haven't seen very many then," she says, shaking her head, "usually, the good guys get the girl-"

"Who said that I was the good guy here?," I say, "she was dating that guy last, and I bet they were having a fairy tale of a romance-"

"You two were having said romance," she reasons with me, grabbing my arm and shaking it.

"How could we? I'm the quiet, shy and serious rockstar, she's the loud, quirky and cheery sports star. How is that going to end well?," I say, and I have no idea why I'm letting her play with my arm. "They're two figure skaters who want an Olympic medal, I don't know how more perfect it could be."

"Again, you don't watch many of these movies," she says, "chick flick couples are usually very different from each other, but I don't really see the difference between you two, though-"

"Whatever you're gonna say, Stella, I don't think it will really help at this point. I doubt we're ever gonna get whatever we had back then-"

"But you almost did back there-"

"That was until you came in," I tell her straight, wrenching my arm free from her grip.

She stares at me with narrow eyes, with an expression that can only be described as, 'oh, no you didn't.'

Well, only one of us can really play that game wel anyway, so I don't really have anything to say.

"I'll be by the bar," I say, and I leave her there before she can stop me with another attempted pep talk.

I almost had it.

Life isn't being very nice to me today.

**Ohhhh...trouble...:))**

**Ah, not really. Expect the expected, that way I can make it "UNEXPECTED" and get away with it, sorta. Expect to have it finished by Sunday, or later. :))**

**Review. Go on, I'm waiting.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey y'all. This is more of a filler chapter. I was trying to make this and the next chapter one really long chapter, but this turned out to be too long as it is, so I'll just make the next chapter as a continuation. Have fun.**

**Also, the idea for Enzo was a little random. See, I wanted to make Macy's ex Asian (I was so set on that), and I wanted to make him have a weird name, for the sake of it. I know someone who's named Enzo, and he's part Chinese, so I said the hell with it. I also pictured someone in particular. I modeled him after Harry Shum Jr., also known as Mike Chang, a.k.a. The Other Asian, from Glee. I've always had a soft spot for him, don't know why they don't give him any more lines. **

**Ah, well, I just wanted to clarify. Enjoy.**

I had her. I was so close that I could smell that Princess by Vera Wang perfume she always puts on before going anywhere. God, I almost kissed her and could've tasted that weird Pina colada lip gloss she found on eBay and swears she wears until now.

Then, stupid Enzo had to show up and be all dashing. Stupid Enzo. Stupid name. If you even try and apologize, try to make her fall for you again, I...would probably lose. Again. Stupid chick flicks.

I am so effing screwed. I should never let another 'seemingly' convincing pep talk ever steer my thoughts away from the logical and realistic.

First, Kevin. I love the guy, and I still think getting married was the best thing that ever happened to him, but way to screw up my perspective. I want to hate Adam for making me think that cake can make it all better, but he's way too adorable. Joe, well, talk about danger. At least he tried, and I think he did pretty good too. Finally putting those memories of the 'in denial' days with Stella to good use. And yes, Stella. Never really wanted to try anyway, but happy to have her in the family.

Or, am I just overreacting?

There is a possibility. Maybe Stella's right; am I just thinking of the formula all wrong? Because one movie had the girl looking for her once thought of 'love of her life' who really was the love of her life, and leaving the man she tried to establish a life with in an effort to forget about said love of her life.

But then again, could that movie just be plain, stupid, imaginary crap?

A 99.99% chance of positivity. That other movie ended up having the former flame chasing after her, professing his love, and she chooses him, and leaves the other guy she went to for comfort for her ex, his ancient German Shepherd and a life in New York.

I make my way to the back, where the bar is located to veer from little children's curiosity, and sit down on one of the high, silver colored stools, lean on the glass counter, and ask the lanky-looking, redheaded bartender in the tux, "what's your specialty, my man?"

"Well," he says smugly, leaning on the counter as well across me, "I make a mean mimosa, it's a special mix of juices-"

"I'd prefer something without champagne, if you don't mind," I cut in, patting the glass surface lightly, remembering how the bubbly caused so much stress for dad, and how it addled Kevin's ability to think rationally, even though it didn't really exactly matter before. "Something that'll knock me out."

"That kind of day, huh?"

"Hell yeah," I reply. He grins, chuckling, and he goes and makes this drink, which must have every kind of liquor available on the shelf behind him, shakes it for about a minute, and pours it out into a tall, thin glass, which must have been almost nine inches tall. I don't exactly drink a lot, but I know that's going to be trouble. "Is that safe?"

"Not sure, never got around to trying it," he replies, pushing the drink even more.

"And how old exactly is this drink?"

"Ahhh, well, around three years ago, I guess." Oh, holy crap. I'm gonna die from drinking a cocktail. "Made it when the owners here asked for the bartenders to make their own original drinks."

"And who actually orders this?," I ask, not really wanting to hear an answer.

"The people who ask for something that'll knock them out in one go," he answers indifferently, "it actually works most of the time."

"Umm, not to pry or anything," I begin, "but did I see some of that venom spiked vodka go in this?"

"Good eye, my man," he says, patting my shoulder. "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"Sounds pretty cool, get me one too," someone says out of the blue. I look over to my left, and to my surprise, Macy is sitting down on the stool next to me, and she turns slightly to so that we're facing each other.

"You're done talking to him?," I say, completely caught off guard, "I told you not to rush it."

"I didn't," she replies nonchalantly.

"But-"

"There just wasn't a lot to say," she answers as the bartender sets another glass of the drink in front of her.

"Well, what did he say to you?"

"I started out pretty simple," she starts out, giving a sweet smile to the redhead, and taking a small sip of the concoction. How in God's name could she have tasted that without passing out? "He apologized, saying that he was such an ass for letting me go and threatening me-"

"At least he got something right-"

"Yes, yes he did," she says, taking another sip, "and he was saying that, even though I'll always have a soft spot for you, he'll try to make up for it, that he'll love me even more than you ever did-"

"I highly doubt that's possible-"

"Yeah, I had a feeling you'd be like that," she says, laughing a little, "anyway, he topped it off with a proclamation of his love- it was very grand, and he said that if ever I leave with him now, if I just forget about you and whatever might have happened, he'll get me my spot on the team back, and he'll forget about the fight we had and we'll become a couple again."

"Oh," I mumble out, and I feel like I'm going to crumble down any minute, "so, what'd you say?"

"Hmmm, well," she starts out, licking her lips a little. Oh, Jesus Christ, help me. "I just said no."

"No?," I ask, "just that?"

"Yup," she answers, smiling as she absent-mindedly circles the rim of her glass with her finger, "it was a pretty easy decision."

"Why?"

"'Cause," she says, taking her hand away from the counter and bringing it up to my face instead, and gently traces my jawline and strokes my cheek. I'm pretty sure my skin's tingling right now, "you're a lot to forget about, Nick."

I feel like dying, but for a perfectly good reason now. "I feel very flattered."

"You're welcome," she replies cheerfully, before turning her attention back to the drink and resuming to consume it.

I can't help but just observe her, the way she wipes the glass with her thumb after every swig, the way she smacks her lips lightly to get most of the flavor, and how her hair just falls and hangs past her face when she lowers her head. I also can't help but just reach over and tuck the hair behind her ears; it's sort of blocking the view.

"Anything wrong?," she asks once I take my hand away, "you haven't done that in a long time."

"Huh? Ummm," I try to look for the right words to say, but even the most correct words sound wrong. I hate being caught speechless.

"Admiring my beauty?," she says cheekily, giggling a little as she leans forward toward me, teasing me again.

I might be. But that's not for you to know. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, the cutie's in denial," she coos, giggling even more.

"The pretty lady called me a cutie-"

"But the cutie called me a pretty lady," she replies, but I honestly can't follow anymore. She's inching closer with every word, and it's the dance floor all over again.

"I'm getting a little nervous," I tell her, tapping the glass surface anxiously. Oh, shit, wasn't supposed to say that.

"Really?"

"I didn't mean for that to come out-"

"Right," she says, giggling lightly, "that tends to happen a lot."

"Well, at least around you," I point out quietly.

She glances back at me quickly, and I can swear that I could have seen a little longing there. "Are you that hung up on me?"

"Depends on what 'hung up' would mean."

"Well," she says, pursing her lips together, "if you could somehow describe the way I feel with you, then I guess that would sum it up."

Huh? I don't get it. "You just made it a little more vague."

"Really? I thought it would be a little clearer," she said, the left corner of her mouth raising slightly. Oh, God no. "I thought the cutie would be able to figure it out-"

"Umm, yeah, pretty lady," I say, and my full intention was to back up, trust me, but I somehow just inch forward as well, closing in on her a little more. "About awhile ago-"

"Right," she says, placing her elbow on the counter, and resting her cheek on her hand, so she's leaning towards the bar. She's smirking. She's really testing me now.

"Do you mind if I-"

"Huh?," she said, tiliting her head more to the side. She moves forward, the space becoming even more limited.

This time, I'm the one who closes the space. My hands don't go anywhere, but my nose nudges hers slightly, our foreheads rest against each other, and our lips are almost on each other. I can hear her breathing shorten, I can feel her tremble ever so lightly, and I can feel my own breath hitch in my throat. But, once again, we are rudely interrupted, by a person that I have absolutely no pleasure in seeing.

"Nicky! How's my almost li'l bro doing?," Carl walks in, grabbing my shoulders from behind me and shaking me vigorously.

"For the last time, Carl, we're not related-"

"Since when were we ever not?," he says, shaking even more. "I'm like your best friend's honorary bro! And since you're the said best friend's real bro, it's like we're honorary bros too!"

"No, that doesn't-"

"Oh, hey there," he says, releasing his hold and completely ignoring me as sets his eyes on Macy. Hers, on the other hand, widen considerably. "You must be Melissa-"

"Her name's Macy-"

"Yeah, I always get it wrong," he says, moving from his spot and over to him, his hand outstretched for her to shake. Yet, by some crazy twist of fate, he somehow trips, which has nothing to do with me, and knocks down my still full glass all over Macy. Surprisingly, she doesn't scream or anything, there's just a look of shock on her face, and I might have heard a soft gasp.

"Schuster! What the hell?" I say as soft as I can with the most outrage I can. I immediately get off my stool, and Carl smartly dodges me and runs away, yelping, "HELP ME JOE! I SUCK AT THIS KIND OF THING!"

"God, I'm gonna kill him- are you okay, Mace?," I say turning my attention to her. The drink didn't come in much contact with her skin, thankfully, because that liquid looks like it would burn, but it spread like wildfire all over her dress.

"Yeah, but it's spreading pretty fast," she says, trying to smooth out her clothes.

"Does alcohol come off easily?," I ask, noting that the yellow of the top started to look like a weird brown.

"No, it's not that big a deal-"

"That might not come off," I cut in, "I know how special that dress is to you."

"I'll just get another one made-"

"No, come on, I won't take no for an answer," I say, grabbing her hand in an effort to get her to stand up, but she doesn't budge.

"Where exactly are you going to get extra clothes?," she asks apprehensively, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Don't look at me like that, it's like you don't trust me," I say, "and where else do I get extra clothing for you?"

"Oh, no, Nick," she says nervously, shaking her head, "I don't think that's such a good idea-"

"It's not like this would be the first time, and you should know that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you-"

"I know you wouldn't, but-"

"Are you telling me that you actually want to stay here?," I ask her, my other hand gently clutching on to her forearm, and I don't know why, but I lowered my head slightly, and I just find myself gazing into her eyes even more intently.

"Well, I've only been here for a while, I don't think that Stella would like that very much," she says, looking over apprehensively to Stella, who was helping Joe say goodbye to some of the other guests.

"She'd kill you for letting good clothes wrinkle and get wet," I say, gesturing to her clothing. "And she's happy enough to be able to just see you in the first place."

"No, it's okay," she tells me, "I don't think that's really needed-"

"No, come on-"

"No, you come on-"

"Okay," I say, halting her, "what will it take for you to let me help you?"

"I don't know, Nick," she tries to begin, but I kind of shut her up by placing my lips right over hers. I don't exactly know what came over me, I guess it was in my subconscience, but it felt so, freaking good. Her lips are even softer than the last time we did this, but I can taste a hint of that coconut-y pineapple flavored lip gloss, and it doesn't take her very long to respond. One of her hands sneak up to my neck, holding me down, while the other cups my face gently. I can tell that she's just as into this as I am, because when I pull away, her eyes flutter open. Flutter. That never happened before.

"Well?," I say, noticing that her hands are still in their respective places.

"Umm," she says, pursing her lips again, "well-"

"You want me to try to convince you again?"

She looks back up, and finally sees that I'm more serious than I've ever been. For tonight, at least. "No, it's okay," she says, jumping off her seat gracefully, one hand grabbing mine, "I think I've been convinced."

"Good," I say, smiling as I position my fingers between hers and locking them together. I place our hands on my chest, so she's stuck with me, and I start moving out, woth her walking in step. "Don't back out on me now."

**Awww...That sucked a whole lot more than what I intended. The next one will be better, I hope. I'm kinda excited for it. **

**I am aware that it is a little rushed. I was really set on having them kiss in this chapter, and I didn't know how to do it. **

**Ah, well. Please review. I ask nicely. **


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry. I apologize to whomever I might offend here. I know there will be people. I warn you now, it is a little more TEEN rated. But not too far. At least, that's what I think. **

**Read, and enjoy. This is the longest chapter yet.**

"So, this is your place?," she asks me, stepping into my apartment with a cute little spring in her step. "You've done yourself well, Lucas."

"Yeah, I'd like to think that too," I reply, my hands deep into my pockets as I follow her. "Bought the two other apartments next-door, had the walls torn down to make more room, so I pretty much have the whole floor to myself now."

"You have a lot of room for yourself," she tells me, peering into every room she passes by, and once she looks inside a room full of my instruments, she exclaims, "your guitars have their own room. Cool. So how many guest rooms do you have here?"

"You think I have guest rooms in an apartment?," I ask, laughing lightly at her curiosity.

"Well, with a place this big, I'd like to think that," she said, going inside the master bathroom, for a second, "Your comfort room's bigger than my bedroom in Canada."

"Thank you, that's my favorite part of the house," I reply, leaning on the doorframe as she makes her way out, "plus, no, no guest rooms here."

"Why not?," she says as she steps in front of me, her hands joint together behind her back and standing on the tips of her toes so her face is somewhat a little closer to mine.

"Well, this is my personal space, and I tend to not like having any people over, it sort of messes up the aura for me," I reply rather coolly. I'm surprised that I didn't go dizzy, like the other times when she's this close, "plus, I don't want to give Joe and Frankie an excuse to come over and crash here."

"I see," she says, nodding happily, before skipping out back into the hallway. Once she was out of sight, I find myself slumping down a little, sighing. So that's where all the air went.

"Oohh, fancy," she says, giggling as she enters the rather large living room (complete with comfy theater-style seats, a couch, and a TV screen as big as the wall, no lie), and settles down on one of the huge leather chairs. "Your own little mini-theater, now I'm officially impressed."

"Thank you, again," I reply, ignoring every want I have to just go there plop down beside her.

"You must have a lot of parties over here, huh?," she says, smiling at me.

"Ahhh, not really. You must have misheard," I say, leaning back on the doorway again, "I don't like having any guests here."

"So why do you have me here?," she asks, pouting a little.

"Well, you're a special exemption," I tell her, giving her a smirk. "I seem to like having you around, even though there's never much oxygen to go around when you're there."

She stops herself from giggling, and instead gives me a small smile, before proceeding to observe the room in its entire fabulous splendor.

Wait. Is she really here? Since when?

"Nick?," she says finally after a minute of silence.

"What? I mean, yeah?," I say, caught off my guard slightly, "what is it?"

"Sit down," she says to me, patting the seat next to her as she straightened up.

What in God's name? "Any particular reason to why you'd want me to sit down?"

"It makes me feel a little uncomfortable, just seeing you stand there" she said, brushing her bangs away from her face, "plus, I just want to tell you something."

Oh shit. This can't be good. "Couldn't we have talked about this back in the reception?"

"This sort of thing isn't something to talk about in a wedding."

"Ummm, yeah, sure."

I walk over a little hesitantly to her in a few strides, and gingerly take the chair beside her. She smiles, a little more sadly than what I would have preferred, sweeps the stray strands of hair away from my forehead, and looks away, setting her hands on her lap.

"So, I just wanted to apologize to you," she said simply, looking down on her fingernails.

"What? Me? Why would you want to apologize?," I ask her, completely not understanding where she's coming from.

"Because you deserve one," she answers, before going on to say, "about the thing five years ago-"

"Wait, you're going to apologize for that?," I ask, a bit more incredulously than what I had intended. "Shouldn't it be me asking for forgiveness?"

"If you'd let me explain, Nick-"

"I know what I said was all just pure crap, and I'm sorry," I tell her, trying to look her in the eye, but she keeps on turning away.

"But-"

"If you're still angry at me for mentioning your dad, you have to know that I regret every word I said-"

"But Nick-"

"I didn't know what I was doing," I say, and I don't know why, but I feel like the waterworks are coming soon. I hate the sap in me.

She gazes at me, looking concerned and heartbroken, but she lays her hand gently on my cheek, and strokes it gently. "Don't you think I would know that?"

"But I never meant to go so far," I said, leaning into her hand. There's nothing more comforting than her palm. "I just didn't want you to leave me."

"I know," she tells me, "that's why I need to apologize."

"No, you don't," I say, clutching the hand on my face, "I was being selfish. I should've been happy for you, because you were getting your dream, but I couldn't support that. You're a lot to lose, Misa. I just didn't want to be left alone-"

"I know that too," she says, reaching up her other hand and cupping the other side of my face, "I should've seen it through your viewpoint. I didn't put your feelings into consideration-"

"But I never had the intention of hurting yours in return," I say, but she just presses on my face with a little more force.

"I took your words the wrong way," she says, bringing me a little closer to her, so her forehead is resting against mine, "I just assumed, and nothing ever good comes from assumptions-"

"You had every right to," I say, leaning in a bit more. "I knew how important the opportunity was to you, but I went on to bash anyway-"

"And I also knew how much leaving would hurt you, but I did it anyway," she says, drawing even closer.

"But I was being self-centered," I say, clutching even tighter. "I leave all the time for tours and all that, but I never heard you once complain. You were so considerate and accepting of what I did. And when you get the chance to get to live your dream, I wasn't as tolerant. I'm sorry. I went so out of line."

"But I went out of line too," she said, "I should've known how you felt then because I went through it, but I guess I just didn't know how to respond because the roles were reversed."

"But-"

"No, please let me apologize," she says, cutting me off, "I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to hold on to you."

"I wanted to hold on to you too."

I have run out of words to say. I've never been so emotionally drained.

"You know what, for all it's worth, Nick," she says, backing up a tiny bit, but she doesn't release her hold on me, "I would've stayed if you hadn't been so loud."

I smile, holding back the chuckle, and say, "so if I were a bit more romantic, we wouldn't have missed five years?"

"In a nutshell," she says, before stroking my cheek one more time, and then letting go.

I give her another small smile, before turning away and nodding at her words, "wish I weren't so abrasive, then."

She tilts her head, just a little, and giggles delicately, before tousling my hair and saying, "you're a lot sweeter than what you give yourself credit for."

"I'd love to believe that one of these days," I tell her, bending forward slightly. She doesn't say anything, however, and just continues to sweep the tresses off my face. "This is getting awkward for you, isn't it?"

"Not really," she replies, patting my cheek, "awkward's never really that awkward with you."

"Yeah, I'd like to believe that too," I say, to which she reacts with another small laugh, and she presses a kiss to my temple. Her lips stay there for a few more seconds, before she pulls away and rests her forehead against it.

I am a very happy camper at the moment.

"Hey, sorry 'bout the random question," she begins to say, withdrawing her hand, "but do you think we can have some coffee? I'm getting a little tired."

I look up, over to her, quite puzzled, and I say, "are you hung over, because I know coffee isn't exactly going to help-"

"No, I'm just a little worn out," she replies, rubbing her eyes in the process, "besides, alcohol doesn't affect me the way it affects you."

"Right, don't remind me," I tell her, giving her one last grin, before getting up and walking out the door, telling her once I was at the door, "I'll just go make some, can you wait here a bit?"

"Fine with me," she says, before leaning back into the chair.

I nod again, and I walk all the way to the second to the last door in the hall, why I needed so much space for myself, I will never know, and I go inside my very warm-looking kitchen, and approach the counter. I take out the pre-grinded coffee from one of the drawers, which, funnily, these days, is one of my newest best friends (finally got rid of the coffee grinder that never used to work), along with the electric coffee maker I got as a gift a long way back. God bless the person who bestowed me with this wonderful gift, even though I can never remember who gave it.

Oh yeah. That was Macy.

How could I have forgotten that?

I put the coffee in, pour the water in the back, and while waiting, I find myself thinking deeply, only a lot more intense than usual. It's the kind of intense that would give me a migraine, not that I already don't have one. Apologies are serious business. I mean, I knew establishing our friendship (I can't say relationship yet, even if we did sort of kiss) would be a little grave, but I didn't think that it would be so heavy. I would say it's heavy, and this is Nick Lucas talking. Never in a lifetime would I have imagined her ever saying sorry for something that was clearly my doing. I feel even guiltier now than what I had initially felt, and I never wanted her to express regret for following her dream. I know I didn't.

I'm such an ass.

And I don't know why I'm so full of happy, but I like it.

And-

"Aww, who can this little guy be?," a random voice says from outside the room. I look up, and I can see from the little light coming from outside in the hall that Macy was discovering some of the pictures, most of which my mother forced to hang up, that were posted up on the walls. Oh, God, no.

I turn off the coffee maker once I see all the water had gone through (who knows how long explaining will take), and I walk out to see her smiling and giggling over the frames on the wall. And the particular one she's looking out involves a baby in a tiger costume. Oh, Jesus Christ, help me.

"I thought you were going to wait for the coffee," I tell her, and I really just find the way she was bending over slightly and prodding at the picture so endearing.

"I can never stay still for too long," she replies, still observing the photograph.

"I was only gone five minutes-"

"I get a little impatient, and that's a record for me," she says, her smile still stretching wider and wider. She gestures to the picture, and asks me, "is this Adam?"

"Umm, no," I answer, not even bothering to glance at it. Bad memories. "That's actually me."

"Aaaww," she says, even louder than the first time, returning her attention back to the photo. "Halloween of '93."

"How do you know about that?," I ask her, staggered at the fact that she knew about that date."

"Joe told me," she answers, standing up straight, "told me that there were pictures of you that I would definitely love to see. He was absolutely right."

"Yeah, well there's no need to keep on-"

"Oh, look at that," she says, going to the next picture, not taking notice of me, "that has to be Adam, it looks a little new-"

"Yes," I reply, my hands back in my pocket, "that was during his first birthday party."

"I'm betting anything Danielle made you hang that up," she said, before moving on to the next frame. I don't bother confirming, she's right anyway. "I'm going to guess that this one is from your first big-time concert. I should know, I was there."

"That is correct," I say, taking a glimpse, "had to do four encore numbers."

"Best way to spend 75 bucks," she says, biting her lip in what I think is happiness. "And this was when Kevin got his first otter-"

"Before we had to give it to the zoo because it was wrecking our home," I say, the bad memories kicking in again, "never knew that there was actually something more high maintenance than Frankie."

"And here's Joe and Stella, and they're kissing," she said, the expression on her face falling once she takes a quick peek at the following photo. "Huh. I don't know why you would have that here."

"I don't know either, it was sort of there when the whole place was finished, I can't ever get it off," I reply, and I feel myself getting a little irritated at my former stylist. "It wasn't my choice."

"Well, are there any pictures that you picked out?," she asks, straightening up and turning slightly to look over at me.

"Well, yeah," I start out, "but they're kinda-"

"Oh, come on, Nick," she says, getting hold of my hands and squeezing them, a pout on her face.

"But it's-"

"Please," she asks me, her eyes glossed over, "I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"Sorry, I can't-"

"Please," she says, stepping a little closer towards me.

I think I just lost my ability to breathe again. And this is a million times more comforting than cake. "Fine, come with me."

I hold on to her hand tightly, and I walk her over to the last door in the hallway. She looks at it a little apprehensively, but I smile and turn the doorknob, then I drag her in quickly. "This is where I sleep."

"Wow," she said, slipping her hand away from mine to walk around and observe the quaint, sky blue-painted bedroom, "it reminds me of the firehouse back in New Jersey."

"Yeah," I say, watching her observe my belongings, "it's the smallest room in the whole place."

"Really?," she says, looking up from my collection of guitar picks.

"Yeah, I don't like big spaces when I snooze," I tell her, closing the door behind me, "you know, I think you're the first person I actually let in here."

"Oh. I'm privileged," she said, smiling, "and slightly threatened."

"You're welcome," I tell her, taking her hand in mine once again, and leading her over to a small table in the corner, just beside my closet. "I only have a few, so-"

"Oh, God," she says, walking forward leaning slightly to get a better look at the framed photographs, "a vintage pic of you, Joe and Kevin, kindergarten days."

"Yup, before they got too annoying," I tell her, smiling fondly at the picture.

"A family portrait, just after when Frankie was born," she observes, touching the frames lightly, "a mother's day photo, a fishing trip with your dad, a group pic when we were at Horace Mantis, and," she finds herself lost for words when she comes down to the last two, like I knew she'd be. She gazes at a picture of herself, kneeling down and grinning widely while petting our family dog at a Christmas party a few years before she left for Vancouver, and switches her view to the photo next to it, a candid shot of her, sitting on my lap and laughing with me, from when Kevin and Frankie were wrestling over the last slice of coconut pie that one summer in LA.

"And me," she ends simply.

"Yup. You," I say, imitating the last photograph and wrapping my arms around her waist from behind her, locking my hands on her stomach to pull her closer to me, and resting my chin on her bare shoulder. She responds by holding my forearm with her hands, saying, "well, at least you picked good shots of me."

"Had to beg Stella to give them to me," I remember all of a sudden, placing my lips on her shoulder.

"Oh, I was always wondering why she always had that camera," she said, tingling a little.

"Sorry, am I making you tremble?," I whisper in her, clinging on even tighter.

"Don't be too smug, there, Lucas," she said, patting my cheek lightly. "You're not as dashing as you think you are."

"Are you sure?," I tease her, pressing another kiss on the spot near the corner of her eye. "Because I know I've been told otherwise."

"Well, who tells you that anyway?," she asks me, and I know that she's distracted as she keeps pausing every now and then.

"Well, I know you did, once," I tell her, and she hangs her head slightly at the revelation, and I also heard her emit a soft 'oh.' I chuckle quietly, and she reacts by nudging at my rib with her elbow, but I try not to respond, even though it hurt. I notice that her hair has covered her face, as well as her shoulders and any skin, so I proceed to brush the locks away gently, and I can't help but take note that somehow, even though she's been stuck in a tundra for quite some time, she managed to get a little more tanned. And her skin's still flawless. How does that happen?

"Ummm, you can let go now, Nick," she tells me, but I can't somehow to keep my focus, because every time I breathe, the vanilla and floral scent coming from her brainwashes me. It's that addicting.

"No, I don't think I can," I say, my eyes closed, and I go on to pepper kisses on her shoulder, her neck, and her cheek. Oh my God, this is happening.

"Uhh, Nick," she tries to start out, turning into my arms to face me, but before she can even get another word out, I shut her up again with a kiss, the explosion of pineapple and coconut filling my mouth again. I press my lips against hers, a little rougher than the first time, but much to my displeasure, it takes her a little longer for her respond. But when she does, oh, holy shit. She snakes her arms around my neck, pulling me down so that she can get more coverage, her hands scrunch up my locks and don't let go, soon, our tongues our dancing together, and she unbuttons the first few buttons of my polo. I lift her slightly by her legs, which she wraps around my waist so that she's off the ground, and I don't know how we did it, but we eventually crash unto my bed.

You could probably tell that there wasn't much talking after that.

I wake up after what seems like hours, even though I know it's only been around two. I'm not exactly tired, but something in me just wants to sleep all day, and nestle there under the covers (there goes the sap in me again), and maybe just spend it with her, envelop my arms around her and listen to her breathe, then I'd murmur little things that I would normally think was just plain crap, but I'd figure it was the best thing to tell her. It's a bit weird, most especially for me, but I can't think of any other thing I want to do more.

But, much to my disappointment, when I turn over slightly to drape my arm around her, I find no one there to cuddle with. Just some air, and an empty space. So, whether I want to or not, this is my cue to get up, because God knows where she could be right now, hopefully, just not completely out of sight.

"Ah, jeez," I mumble out once I finally sit up. It didn't hurt, but I've never felt so strained. My neck's not really in the right place, my arms feel a little awkward, and God, my legs are aching like anything, but a certain feeling, I think it's called bliss or elation, take your pick, just washes over me.

I really want to lie down again all of a sudden.

"No time to lie down now, Lucas," I tell myself, and I know that I'm officially lost my mind. But you know what, I guess I'm finally somewhat okay with the idea. I take a quick glimpse around me, the bed, the rumpled up covers, the floors, and I see that my shirt isn't there. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head, and I promptly slip on a pair of shorts from my closet. I look over to the other side, and then take one of the wife beaters on top, just examining it, and it gets me thinking. Should I put a shirt on?

Nah.

I walk out of the bedroom, disheveling my curls while I'm at it, but not before I taking a quick peek at myself in the full-length mirror just outside the door. Only now do I notice that I am a little more buff than what I credit myself for.

Joe was right. This is sort of fun.

I continue down the hallway, but it doesn't take me very long to hear some sort of activity going on close by. I hear a lot of moving about in the kitchen, so I'm not surprised to see Macy bustling around, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot. I'm also not surprised to see her dressed only in my long-sleeved polo, but now I really, really can't help it; she's never looked more radiant, because she's glowing again, or stunning, or picturesque. I almost want to grab my camera, but I control myself. I can see it's big on her; the sleeves hang a little past her hands, and it's certainly long enough to cover what needs to be covered, but it doesn't seem to hide her gorgeous, bronzed legs. Her hair is also a little messier, but it didn't make the locks any less flouncy.

I have to keep telling myself that pictures never really compare to the real thing.

"How do you want your coffee?," she asks me all of a sudden, not taking her eyes off the coffee maker in front of her.

"Huh? Oh, umm, just make me a black," I reply, startled a little. Women really have a way of knowing if you're checking them out. I take a second's hesitancy before making my way to her, snaking my arms around her once again, just like yesterday, before things got a little too out of hand, and kissing the top of her head. I only noticed now, and I'm an idiot for even mentioning, but she's a little shorter without the heels. Makes it a lot easier for me.

"Not again," she says, but I know that she's smirking in front of me.

I pull her a bit closer, inhaling the jasmine in her hair, and I say to her, "I won't try anything, I promise."

"You're tickling me," she manages to murmur out, giggling a little as my arms move a bit higher so they're just under her bust, and I plant a small kiss to her cheek. "Let go-"

"Make me," I tell her, proceeding to let my fingers do their work. She giggles again, a little shriller than before, and she turns in my arms and holds my hands down, so I have no choice but to stop. I laugh along with her, before tugging away from her grip, and instead enfold her in my arms, clasp my hands together and place them at the small of her back. She grins sweetly, and then wraps hers around my waist as well. We're really just leaning against each other now.

"Hmmm," she mumbles, lifting her head a tiny bit, so I go on to press my forehead against hers, "since when did you get those really nice abs?"

"We don't really need to mention that, but thank you," I say, planting a kiss on her nose, and then releasing her to get the abandoned cup she left on the counter. I sip and let some of the severely bitter liquid go down my throat, but then again, I can't really focus on the taste because she's poking on my arm.

"It's still firm," she notes out, feeling around my arm. I really have to hold the coffee down, because now I just feel like I'm going to spit it out. I swallow, and I ask her in an effort to avoid the subject, "why'd you get up so soon anyway?"

"I guess it was just restlessness," she said, resting her head on my shoulder, "and we never got around to drinking it a while ago, so I thought it would just go to waste-"

"Couldn't you have waited for me?," I ask her, glancing to her quickly.

"Well, you looked so cute when you were sleeping, so it seemed a little rude to just disturb," she answers, getting her mug and drinking from it as well.

"How poetic," I reply, taking another sip, "I am depicted as a puppy."

"A very cute puppy," she said, and I know she's keeping the giggles back.

"I was going for macho, but okay," I reply, smirking a little. She replies by kissing my bicep, (because I have a nice bicep), and I just move slightly to face her properly, and I hold her waist with one hand, pulling her closely. "Can I have my shirt back?"

"No," she says, shaking her head as I move my hand to her neck, playing with the collar, "you said I could borrow some of your clothes when mine got ruined-"

"I didn't think you'd take this one-"

"It's sort of like a rule," she tells me, patting my cheek, "the girl has a right to take the guy's shirt after, don't you know that?"

I look over to her, and take another mouthful from the cup. "How subtle, Misa."

"Sorry, didn't intend that," she says sheepishly.

Ahh, adorable. "Don't worry, I'm just playing with you," I say, sweeping some of the wilder stray strands from her face, and going over to the fridge at the farthest corner from the room. "So, I'm gonna ask you something."

"What is it?, "she asks, daintily sipping from here mug while leaning against the counter.

"Umm," I begin, opening the refrigerator door, "I was wondering, if ever, you know, would you want to go to Washington with me? Be my date? Because I sorta don't want to go alone, it would be a little humiliating to go solo in front of the President-"

"President, as in, the White House?," she asks, holding down the cup.

"Yeah, I was picked to honor Tony Bennett, just got the call a few days before the wedding, so it's pretty last minute-"

"I'd love to go, Nick, but I have to ask," she says, sounding a little hesitant, "when's it gonna be?"

"Umm, a week from now, why?," I say, not looking up from the fridge. Where in God's name is that leftover donut?

"Oh," she said, and just by her tone, I know that something's wrong. I sneak a quick peek at her, and she's slouching slightly, her expression a little crestfallen, and her grip on her mug unusually rigid.

"What's wrong?," I ask her, getting up from my position, and just observing her.

Her fingers just fidget around the cup, and she doesn't even look me in the eye, before she says, "I can't go."

"Oh, okay, that's fine, I'll go embarrass myself instead," I tell her, trying to reassure her, but she doesn't look exactly comforted by my words. "You know, if anything's wrong, you can just tell me."

"I know, it's just that, I'm not sure how you're going to take this," she tells me, the cup just shaking a tiny bit in her hands.

I know this isn't going to do her well, so I go over to her, take the mug and set it down on the counter, and pull her into a swift hug. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't really say anything for a while, and just taps her fingers on my bare chest, but a minute later, she says in a hushed voice, "I got an offer to go to Madrid, one of my old teammates was there for soccer training for the national team, and she told her coach about me. They saw some videos of my games, and they called me a few weeks ago. I leave in four days."

"Oh," I say, and I can feel my insides plummet a thousand feet. I can't seem to register a sensible reaction. "For how long will you be gone?"

"Three years minimum," she replies even more softly.

Wow. Didn't really see this coming. I unravel my arms from her, and, because I don't really know what to do with them, I just stick my hands in my pockets, taking a small step back, and she just looks at me, a knowing look on her face. "That's some curveball."

"Nick, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's okay, follow your dream," I tell her, but it sure as hell isn't okay. I've never wanted to die more.

"Nick, please-"

"No, it's fine," I say, shaking my head at her, "not that big a deal."

"Nick," she says more forcefully, stepping in front of me and staring me straight in the eye, "can you please talk? Are you mad at me?"

"No," I tell her, meeting her gaze to know that I'm just as serious as she is, "I'm not mad, Mace."

"Then why does it seem like you are?"

"Because I would've appreciated it if you told me a little earlier," I tell her, a bit more stoically than I wanted it to sound. "Then I probably wouldn't have done what I did then."

"I know, and I'm sorry," she says, inching a little closer, but still avoiding contact, "I was really going to tell you, but things got a little too far-"

"Too far?," I ask, repeating what she said, "I would think that things got a little too good-"

"Nick, I tried to tell you," she tells me, "but it was a little hard to focus when you were kissing me-"

"Can you tell me one thing?," I ask, staring at her intently, "are you sure you left Enzo because of the wedding, and not because of this offer-"

"No," she replies adamantly, "I wasn't even sure that I was going to accept it, and I forgot all about it for a while. After I left him, only then did I remember about the whole soccer thing. I only called in to accept it when I was on my way to the reception; I never knew that this would happen-"

"So you didn't think that we would get along?"

"Nick, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously, "I'm sorry, I know I should've told you sooner-"

"Yeah, I guess I do too," I cut in, "that way, maybe we wouldn't have done anything-"

"So you're regretting this?," she asks me, and I can hear the remaining strength she had wavering.

Oh, God no. I would never regret the best thing that's ever happened to me.

"No, never in a million years," I tell her, and I cup her face in my hands, "you have to know that I'm thankful that it was you. But was I thinking and daydreaming of having the girl I gave myself to spending every moment she can with me? Yeah, I do, Mace. I'm not sure if this is just as important to you, but losing this ring is a really big thing for me."

"Nick, this isn't any easier for me," she tries to stop me, but when I silent down to hear what she has to say, she comes out speechless, and just looks down and grips my wrists.

"Mace," I say, holding her even closer and letting my nose touch hers, "I'm not mad at you. I would've liked a heads up, but I do know that I love you more than anything."

She stays silent, but a small tear falls from the corner of her eye. I wipe it off with my thumb, and continue to say, "I don't want to make the same mistake twice. You can go knowing that I will be there to cheer you on, and I want you to do what you've dreamt for the longest time. I'll be the number one fan this time, okay?"

She keeps silent for a few seconds, before telling me, "what if I just stayed?"

"No, don't do that," I say, "I'll be fine."

"You're not okay," she tells me after a minute of quiet. "You're upset."

"Maybe," I reply, embracing her again, and setting my chin on the top of her head, "but it will be a whole lot worse if you just didn't go, on both our parts. You go for me, okay? I want to see you get a medal, and I'm tired of fighting and arguing."

Nothing comes out of her mouth, but from the little tracks of water running down my torso, I can tell that she was crying. She grips me even tighter, and says delicately, "I'm so sorry, Nick. I wish there was a way I wouldn't hurt you."

"Well, things aren't really going to turn out simple for us."

She sniffs a little, and tells me in response to my words from quite a while ago, "I love you too."

I squeeze her in my arms, press a kiss to her forehead, and I say quietly, "I know you do."

I'm not sure why, but I feel something wet coming down my cheek and falling into her hair.

**WOW. LONG. :))**** I acknowledge that the conversations in the beginning and the end are rushed, but I really don't have the time to make it super duper long and in-depth. I've only got three days left to write the last chapter, and then I leave for a special place. :)) It's a secret (eh, not really. It's school, I get really busy then). **

**I hope you enjoyed, and please REVIEW. I really, really, REALLY want to read a lot. :))**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry that it's a little late. Here ya go. Oh, yeah, for Stella's and Macy's outfits, I based them off the Lady Gaga costumes in the Theatricality episode of Glee (I absolutely died when I saw that episode. Died, I tell you), specifically, Quinn's dress (Stella) and Rachel's second dress for Macy (favorite outfit on the show EVER. It was fierce). **

**Enjoy. It is kinda long.**

A lot can happen in five years. It's a long time to mull over something, a long time to see mistakes and change, a long time to miss somebody.

Funny thing is, five years seemed to fly by, compared to the three years now, which seems to be just crawling at a snail pace.

Kevin and Stella both said during the family Christmas party the year after it's because this time, unlike the last time, she actually left with us being in good (or fantastic, magical and beautiful, in Stella's words) terms, and this time, waiting would be even harder and more difficult, because, as Kevin put it, "you won't be able to hold your patience, because all you'll be doing is think of her and wonder what she's thinking and doing. You can't wait for the next time you'll see her."

Without it being mentioned, that conversation ended at the rest of the family laughing hysterically at him (I refuse to say me, because that's just not possible).

Another time, when it was just the four of us brothers, Joe and Frankie (who both have must had drank a considerably high amount of champagne, beer in my younger brother's part) agreed when saying it seemed longer than five years because my brain refuses to function correctly, and that probably came from the small accident I had onstage at the Tony Awards because I thought some girl I saw in the audience looked a lot like you know who, so I got a little distracted.

Needless to say, they both had to get some stitches and Joe had his arm bandaged up for a while, which was not my fault (he tripped on the stairs while trying to run away from me), though I take full responsibility for Tank's almost broken nose.

I can't lie. That was fun.

I don't know how I managed to survive without having her with me for more than a thousand days, because I sure as hell thought I was going to lose it just being at the airport after I gave her a short kiss and hug goodbye.

But I did.

We made sure that the other was updated on the other's life, because that is the natural thing to do. There was Twitter, which meant our little affectionate messages to each other were made public (even though no one really uses it anymore, so it's sort of a win-win), Facebook (even more of a win-win), texting, e-mailing, and long-distance calling, which had to be my favorite. Just listening to her voice brings me back to where I was actually, genuinely happy.

But I didn't get to see her. She never went home because of training, but she's assured me that there are no males around to distract the team, even though she didn't really need to. I trust her enough to just let her be. Even during the holidays, she was just cooped up in that little field. Her mom flew over every Thanksgiving, every birthday, and every Christmas, so she wouldn't miss anything. She's asked me each time if I would like to come along, and each time, I had to force myself to say no. I somehow think it wouldn't be very poetic if I just dropped in there.

Besides, I was told by her teammates that men are never allowed in training sessions. The coach says it ruins their rhythm. I guess they really need to go to the Olympics.

And each time her mother would show up at the airport, she'd ask me if I had provided her with the mysterious first-class ticket with which she flew with. I would always tell her that I had no idea what she was talking about.

I watched her get the gold for the country. They beat the Brazilian (yes, the Brazilians) team, where she had made two of the team's overall goals of four, and I remember the way she spun around in happiness when they finally put the medal around her neck. There was a cocktail of emotions going on in me when everyone else was cheering in their own weird ways. Stella proceeded to kiss Joe and pull him down to the couch, Kevin went on to lift Frankie straight off the ground, mom and dad just danced around to the imaginary song in their heads, and Adam was never really introduced formally to her, so he just sat there, eating his chocolate cake with Danielle wiping off the icing on his shirt.

But I was the odd man out, once again. I just sat there, and I tried to get a smile on my face, but it just wouldn't come. I was happy, most definitely, because she'd finally achieved what she had been training and dreaming for. She finally did what she said she was going to do. I was depressed, because I wasn't there to cheer her on, unlike the way she had always tried to go drop by concerts, even just at the last song, to give me a little kiss to say what a great job I did. I was angry, most probably for the same reason, plus maybe the fact some guy tried to kiss her cheek. I was amused at one point, because she kicks the guy, right in that area where men are clearly not supposed to be kicked in, and the crowd just cheers behind her. I could've sworn that when the team blew a kiss to the cameras (they tell me it's a sign of unity or something), she mouthed my name right after.

And, like most people who have had the person they love the most leave them at their request for a dream they want to achieve, I am confused. But at the same time, I find myself falling even deeper in love with her, and wanting even more to see her.

But for now, I have to be content with these little messages, those short calls, the pictures sent through the internet, the other pictures , plus the food and other little trinkets she gave through her mom. They'll have to do.

I also realized, a little too late, I'm afraid, that I never got around to giving her my purity ring. When you've been wearing something for an unbelievably long time, you tend to forget you're wearing it. After she left, on the car ride home, only then did I notice that it was still there on my finger when my hand was on the wheel. Her mom would always ask me, right before she'd board the plane for Madrid, if I would want to give it to her. I know I should've said yes, but I don't know why I just turned her down. I know it really belongs to her, it always had been hers, and I know the real romantic thing to do was to give it to her, and let her wear it. But I couldn't just let it go. I always think of it as like bringing a little bit of her with me wherever I go.

Another funny thing is, she's never asked for it.

Most people think I'm overly-passionate (Joe and Frankie seem to believe it's called 'crazy'). They always ask why I'm never going out with anyone anymore, why I always seem to be alone. When I tell them that I already have a girlfriend, but she's not exactly living here at the moment, they ask me why I can't just move on, go find another girl, because there are sure as hell plenty of fish in the sea.

I always have the same answer. I tell them that once they meet her, they'll get it.

Another funny thing is, and I'm ashamed of this, is that I sometimes have to tell myself that every time I see Joe and Stella, Kevin and Danielle, even Frankie and whoever he was hanging out with. But I take comfort in the fact that there will never be another person like her, and that there can never be another first.

Oh, yeah. It's also because I love her.

_**LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, THREE YEARS LATER**_

"Nick! Where in God's name are my shades?"

Oh, jeez. Joe, shut up.

"Your costume will work fine without it," I tell him, walking into the master bathroom of his and Stella's grand mansion in L.A.

"Are you kidding?," he asks me incredulously, giving me a crazed look before turning back to his reflection in the mirror in front of him, "Horatio Caine is not Horatio Caine without the shades. You should know that-"

"Yeah, whatever," I tell him, looking at myself in the full length mirror as well, "why you and Stella chose a costume party as a theme for a baby shower, I'll never know-"

"Hey, man, I thought I told you before," he says, adjusting the belt of his all-black ensemble, "the baby's due on Halloween, so-"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, adjusting my bow tie. "You know, babies don't usually really come out on the due dates."

"Well, I learned to not care a long time ago. What are you even supposed to be?," he asks me, glancing at my tuxedo. Oh shit, it's really warm.

"James Bond," I tell him, trying to smooth down my curls, "that way I can still pass off as normal."

"A tux in August is supposed to be normal?," he asks me, cocking up an eyebrow.

"Well, Kevin managed to borrow an Iron Man costume from Marvel, and Frankie's spray-painted himself with glitter and put on an Edward wig, so I'm as normal as it gets today. Aside from you, unless you do those stupid one-liners," I tell him matter-of-factly.

"I could have borrowed?," he says in disbelief, "Damn."

"You're already over-the-top just as yourself, putting on a costume would have been overkill," I say, stepping back a little as he leans forward slightly to get a better look at himself.

"No one could ever get too much of Joe," he says, grinning at himself. Jesus Christ, I'm not related to him.

"Whatever, I'm gonna go help downstairs, don't even know why I came up here in the first place," I tell him, but, I bet he said this just to annoy me somehow, he calls out as I am already at the door, "you coordinated with Macy tonight?"

I turn around to get a good look at him, and reply, "she might not even be coming-"

"But you said she was arriving home today-"

"But she might not come," I emphasize, "you can't expect her to come straight here right after a flight-"

"But I already had a speech in mind-"

"What speech?"

"That you two were gonna be next in line-"

Oh, to hell with you, Joseph.

"Joe, now's not really the best time-"

"But I thought you were gonna, you know-"

"You know what, fine, here are your stupid, crappy shades," I cut him off in an attempt to leave the subject behind, taking out a pair of gold-rimmed aviators from my pocket and throwing it out to him.

He catches it effortlessly, but he looks at me furiously, saying, "I've been looking for these for hours, why didn't you-"

"Go get ready," I tell him, losing my interest, "don't even think of doing any of the lines."

"But-"

Too late. I'm already running down the stairs, trying to get as far away as quickly as possible.

One of these days, these people will stop getting me to plan these kinds of events that are just depressing, at least in my point of view.

_**A LITTLE LATER ON**_

This party isn't even thirty minutes in, and I already find myself shouting at everyone to behave, or put down whatever piece of very expensive crap they're holding. Apparently, Joe and Stella have a lot of it.

"Frank, stop harassing the kids, and don't get their candy," I tell my younger brother from across the room, who was apparently hanging out with the little children, playing charades or something, "kids, don't fall for it-"

"It's not like I wasn't gonna get anything from them-"

"Whatever, Frank, remember your sugar," I call back, already moving. This party had more people around than the wedding. And there are children everywhere.

I'm going to die.

"Stella, honey, I know you're pregnant, but you're gonna have to stay away from the baby cake until everyone's here," I tell the lady of the hour, already seven months in, a considerably large bump as a stomach, and reaching for the cake (sculpted like a baby dressed as a tiger, apparently Joe's idea of fun) in front of her.

"Oh, come on, it looks so cute," she said, smoothing out the few wrinkles that there are in her huge, pink, dress with multiple weird, large rings all around it, and she grabs a large, metal star from the table beside her chair.

"What are you even dressed as?," I ask her, helping her stand up from her seat, "Saturn?"

"No," she says, raising an eyebrow at me as we walk, looking for her husband, "for your information, I am sporting one of Lady Gaga's many iconic looks-"

"What's the point of calling it iconic when she dresses up like that all the time?," I tell her, wincing slightly as she clings on tightly to my arm.

"Don't sass me, Lucas," she says, cocking her eyebrows and blinking her 2-inch long, pink and purple-colored eyelashes at me. "She revolutionized the way people look at the Solar System."

"Right, I'm thrilled that people dress like the planets now," I say, patting her hand lightly.

She gives me a knowing look, I think it was my fidgeting that gave it away, and she asks me, "you know, if I had known you were Bond, I would've asked Macy to dress up as Tracy Draco or something."

"Tracy Draco?," I give her a little glare of skepticism.

"Oh, you know," she says, giggling at her own supposed genius, "the only real Bond girl-"

"I know who she is," I tell her, waving her off with my hand, "it's just that, I don't even think she'll even make it-"

"Why wouldn't she?," she says, propping a hand on her hip in an attempt to look serious, but with a bump like that, it looks a little strange. "I mean, she would do anything just to see you, and I doubt she'd miss my first baby shower-"

"The plane isn't even supposed to make it until midnight, and that's just an estimation," I tell her, but I somehow seem to be trying to convince myself instead. "I mean, you can't just expect her to come here right after."

She looks at me again with the annoyingly knowing, stupid look, and she just says, "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"What am I supposed to be nervous-oh," I say, realizing what this all must be about, "Kevin told you."

"He went overload on the champagne again," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. Typical Kev. "Nick, that's a really big thing you're about to do."

"I'm a little tired of doing this all the time," I tell her; there's no point in trying to do otherwise, now that I know Kevin, Joe, Stella, and probably my parents, and Frankie maybe bribed it out of one of the kids, "figured it was time to just stop."

"Well, I'm not so sure about it, but you can take comfort in the fact that we will always be here for you, whether you like it or not," she tells me, giving me a warm smile as she rubs her stomach with one hand, and patting my shoulder with the other. "I only wish you the best."

Since when have these people been this deep? "Parenthood will do you well," I tell her, smiling slightly, "I don't know about Joe, though-"

"What about me?," Joe suddenly chimes in, gliding beside me smoothly, his shades in his hands, and a stupid, cat-eye like look on his face.

"Your costume," she swoops in, grasping on to her husband's outstretched hand, "mine reminds him of astronomy, which he did really well in, and yours just annoys him because Miami is his least favorite edition of CSI-"

"Well, annoying Nick is just a small price," he said, putting on his shades in a slow-motion manner, reminiscent of David Caruso's performance, only, more infuriating, "to look good-"

"What did I tell you about the one-liners?," I tell him stoically, but still attempting to stay calm.

"But without the one-liners, I'm just some other dude in black," he whines, pouting at me, and I'm pretty convinced that behind those aviators, he has the matching sad look to go with it, "and what the hell, this is my party-"

"Which I planned," informing him of the many sleepless nights I spent arranging this thing, "I pulled out of doing SNL because of this-"

"Okay, okay," he says, waving his hand at me, "fine, but one of these days, Nicholas, you will see the error of your ways-"

"What error?"

"Look, you know what, Joe, baby's getting pretty restless, and I'm getting pretty hungry, so let's just go, okay?," Stella jumps in to save me again, hitting him to catch his attention, "can you get me something to eat?"

"What do you want?," he says to her, his expression going from hostile and pissed to sweet and perfect, "you want the pacifier-shaped burgers, maybe share a mobile marshmallow and hotdog platter, or get a slice of that baby cake," he says a little coldly, looking over at me.

"Oh, burn," I mock him, my eyes narrowing slightly, "at least I was a cute kid then, hope I could've said the same thing about you-"

"I want the pacifier thing," Stella declares, grabbing on to his arm and pulling him away, but it doesn't stop him from glaring back at me, shooting daggers.

"Congratulations! You'll make great parents!," I call out to them, the rest of the guests watch me as I chuckle quietly to myself. Making fun of me isn't going to get you anything, except probably humiliation. Or tears, take your pick.

I turn around, with the full intention of leaving the place and wait for Macy at the terminal (nevermind if that's going to take around four hours or more), but, because God is looking to make my world a little more colorful, I instead bump into Iron Man. That's just great.

"Oh, hey Nick," he pulls back the helmet, and I see Kevin's face greet me with a grin. I'd prefer to have the mask on. "Great party you got around going, huh?"

"I guess," I say, digging my hands into my pockets. I scan him, looking at his attire, which was completely made out of metal painted red and gold, complete with the little screws and laser weapon crap, and it looks almost functional. I still can't believe these people are my brothers.

"Oh, like the costume?," he says, beaming widely and giving me a salute, "I pulled some strings, called Robert Downey Jr., he talked to the studio and they let me borrow it. Turns out he wants to work with me, can you believe that?," he stops, laughing even louder this time around. He tries to thump my arm, but the joints in the suit don't allow him to, so his arm is stuck mid-air. "Can you-"

"Yep," I reply, taking hold of his wrist and, with plenty of effort, I manage to push it down to his side. "How do you walk in this thing?"

"I have wheels on the bottom," he tells me, lifting his foot and showing me the wheel on the sole of his 'boot'. "It's like metal skates, except a whole lot more complicated, and heavy."

"It looks fun," I tell him, though I'm not really caring.

"Not really," he says, but he's still smiling strangely enough. "But hey, better than Joe's Men in Black get-up right?"

I'm about to correct him, my mouth already a little open, but I stop myself instead and say, "yeah, I guess it is."

He smiles again, even letting out a small chuckle, and says to me, "so, Mr. Bond, were you just about to leave?"

"Yeah- I mean, no," I say, shaking my head at my mistake, "no, I'm not. As much as I don't like this little get-together, I can't leave. This is their first kid, after all. And I'm gunning for godfather-"

"Oh, I don't think so," he says, laughing at me, attempting to shake his finger at me, but to no avail. "I'm oldest, and I'm more responsible."

"Since when?," I say, questioning him, "even during the JONAS days, the last time we left you alone with the guitars, they ended up becoming firewood-"

"In my defense, I didn't know how to use the heater yet," he says, moving his head slightly. Apparently, he can't move his head in the helmet either. "And you do realize that we went almost nine years without mentioning that-"

"Oh, I can't believe we wasted that much time not talking about this," I say, laughing to myself while ignoring the deadly glare he's giving me. "But no joke, those were really expensive-"

"I bought them, I should know," he says, raising his arm high enough to hit me squarely at the rib. Metal does not do the bones any good. "And when were you the most responsible?"

"Okay, where should I begin?," I say, leaning forward, as if I were threatening him, "do you want from when we were little kids, or should I just skip to the JONAS era-"

"Not my point, little bro," he says, laughing in an attempt to shut me up, "at least I'm actually a real dad, and the closest you've gotten to having a kid was with Macy three years ago-"

"That was a false alarm-"

"I know, genius-"

"And I haven't seen her since then-"

"I know that too, genius-"

"You brought it up-"

"Whatever, dear Nicholas," he says, but the mask falls and hits him squarely on the face. "Point is, I would make a better godfather, because I have more experience from running around all the time, and this is my first nephew, or niece, whatever-"

"You're being surprisingly immature about this-"

"Oh, come on, Nicky," he says, whining a little, "Since you and Frankie haven't exactly given me a lot of hope, Joe is the last resort, and I mean, I made you godfather to Laurie-"

"Which reminds me, Kevin," Danielle interrupts, a teary little baby girl dressed as a fairy weeping in her arms, "why don't you take care of her first?"

"Why don't you ask the godfather first?," he says, pointing over to me.

"No, why don't you show him how mature and dependable you really are?," she says sweetly, lifting their daughter a little, "besides, my kimono's literally just squeezing me half to death, and I really hate this make-up," she states, gesturing to the red, black and white robe she was wearing (tightened with a very stiff-looking obi belt), and the pale white face paint and ruby red lipstick on her face.

"I don't know, you make a pretty good geisha," I say absent-mindedly, gaining a beam from her, and another death glare from my older brother.

"At least someone appreciates the costume," she says, huffing slightly at Kevin as she adjusts my niece in her arms.

"I never said I didn't like it, hun," he says, trying to move, but the suit fails him yet again, "dammit-"

"No swearing in front of our little girl," she said, using one hand to cover the exposed ear of her weeping child, "and can you please take her, I need to go to the bathroom-"

"Can't you ask Adam?," he says, pouting at her.

"He's busy flirting with the other guests, with Frankie," she replies, almost in a bored tone, "besides, you know how weak that little boy is; he can't even carry his own school bag."

"Ironic that he's dressed as the Hulk," I note, looking over to the crowd, and spotting an eight year old decked out in fake green muscles, standing beside a sparkled up Frank.

"Yes, it is," Kevin agrees, even though I know he doesn't really care, and he turns back his attention to his wife, "well, it's not like I can really carry her or anything in this suit," he points out, referring to his outfit.

"What do you suppose I do, then?," she asks him, her hold on the tiny girl getting tighter, "I mean, I don't know most of the people here-"

"You know what, Dani, I'll take her for you," I say, offering my hands to her, waiting to receive my goddaughter. She is the most adorable little fourteen months old ever, with her warm brown eyes and curly, doll-like hair. It helps that she's also dressed in pink, complete with a tiara and wings.

She smiles at me warmly, glowering at him a second later, and carefully handed over her daughter over to me. Once she's in my arms, the little, fragile baby quiets down, almost immediately, and stares at me with her small doe eyes, and goes on to poke at my nose with her miniature hand, giggling repeatedly.

Most people think I wouldn't be good with kids. I would beg to differ.

"Thanks, Nick. You're a lifesaver," she says, giving me one last grin, and one last angry, haughty look at Kev, before strutting off in tiny steps (most probably because of her wooden slippers. Kevin insisted on accuracy).

"So you're just going to take my wife and daughter away?," he jokes with me, but it doesn't seem very obvious.

"Of course not, but because you don't have the ability to move freely, I'll have to take care of little Lauren here, and it just happens that my niece seems to like Agent 007 more than she likes Tony Stark, right, Laurie?," I say, moving her a little so I could see her better, and she answers with giggles and more poking, with me making a little fish face. "Don't worry, Kev, you're still the daddy, after all."

"Stupid suit," he says, looking down at his get-up, "and I need to go to the bathroom all of a sudden."

"Can't you just go in there," I ask, blowing playfully at her face, and she just laughs even louder. "I mean, that's what he did in the sequel, right? You could even drink that water-"

"You do realize that this is just a costume, right? That sort of technology isn't even made up yet," he tells me.

"Uh-huh, but I guess that just leaves me more time with Lauren, right? Daddy looks uncomfortable, yep?," I reply, holding her tiny hand up in the air.

"You like her more than you like me, that's just great," he mutters, noticing that I'm not even giving him a second glance.

"I've had twenty-eight years of trying to like you, time I give someone else a chance," I say, bouncing around as she giggles again.

"I'm hurt."

"Laurie's sorry for being more adorable than you," I say, showing off the little toddler to him, whose wide eyes switch from me to him, looking confused.

"Aww, well, papa can't be mad at you," he says, tapping her nose very lightly, making sure his costume doesn't do any sort of damage on her. "You're not so lucky, though, Nick."

"Fair enough," I say, just as she lets out a little yawn. "Oh, getting tired? Wanna sit down?"

For some strange reason, while she shakes her head, Kevin just watches me intently as I shush her quietly as she dozes off. "You want one, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?," I ask him, cradling her in my arms.

"For all it's worth Nick, you would make a great dad. Not as good as me, but still," he says, flattering himself. "It's nice seeing you actually be loose with someone, other than Macy, of course."

"Having to run around after kids does sound like fun," I say, smiling at the prospect. "But I don't think that's going to happen for a long time-"

"Why not? Got pretty close to it-"

"Kev-"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, waving me off, "you look pretty relaxed there, li'l bro. It looks a lot more natural than I thought it would be."

I catch a glimpse of the snoozing child, and I say, just out of the blue, "can I keep her?"

"No," he says, laughing, "but now that I'm reminded of it, what are you going to do with Macy?"

"Yep, now that I'm reminded of it too, you should really stay away from any alcohol-"

"It was that one time," he chuckles again, "but all kidding aside, Nick, that's a big deal, that thing you're about to do. Why don't you give her some time to adjust, then maybe when you give her the news, maybe she won't be as shocked-"

"Kev, this is Macy, she's going to be shocked anyhow," I tell him, shaking my head. "And don't you think I would know when the right time is? I'm pretty sure she's getting pretty tired of this too-"

"But, this is different," he says urgently, but in the thing he's wearing, I can't really take him all that seriously. "I mean, how long have you been together, quote unquote?"

"Ten years, four months-"

"I'm good with ten years," he cuts in, stopping me, "that's a long time, do you realize that?"

"Well aware of it."

"Are you just going to throw that away? There's never going to be a guarantee that this is going to work for either of you-"

"Well, technically, I'm not throwing it away, maybe letting it go and switching it for something else, but not really," I tell him, "and it's not going to change anything. At least, I hope so, I mean, I guess that she would want to take a-"

"But-"

"Look, Kev, can you just be the supportive brother here?," I say, hearing the little girl's quiet snores, "maybe a change of topics would be nice?"

"Are you even prepped for this?," he pushes on, the look on his face getting earnest, "I mean, when do you plan on telling her?"

"On the car ride home after I pick her up," I answer casually, my hold on the sleeping baby getting tighter.

"Isn't that a little too soon? I mean, can't you wait a little, she just got here-"

"Not really," I say, deadpanning him completely.

"Isn't it going to awkward, even just a little bit?"

He's persistent.

"We're kinda past those awkward moments, and I just figured I'll get it over with quickly, isn't that going to be better for both of us," I tell him indifferently, "wait, so you don't want me to do this?"

"I do, dear lord, I do, but are you even sure?," he asks me directly, "she just came off a plane, is it even the right time?"

"I'm exhausted, Kev," I say, literally and emotionally, "I just want to move on with my life."

"I'm pretty sure that she'd like to move with you," he said a little stiffly.

"We'll see about that," I say, and the fairy in my arms is really out of it now, as her snoring has grown even louder. "Can you hold her for a bit, I just wanna get a drink-"

"Have you been paying any sort of attention?," he says, a little outraged, and going on to try to lift his arms, which ends up hanging in mid-air.

"Fine, can you get it then?," I say, letting the child's small head rest on my shoulder.

"How do I-"

"You have wheels, go use them," I say to him, with him giving me a glare.

"Fine, mimosas good?," he asked, propping up the wheels on his shoes.

"Champagne is your thing, not mine," I tell him.

"Mimosas it is, then," he says, and before I can retort, he rolls off, a little clunkily, and leaves me alone with his little girl.

"Your dad is pretty outlandish," I murmur quietly, but not getting a response from Lauren. "But he is a lot smarter than we all give him credit for. Sometimes."

She just continues to doze. Ahh, adorable.

I actually do want to be a dad. But I can only do it with one person, funnily enough.

Try guessing who that is.

I turn around, with me having the initial plan of bringing her to the nursery Joe and Stella had built for their own child, but, because God still thinks my world isn't colorful enough, I walk into someone, a girl, presumably, almost pushing her straight to the floor.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," I mumble as she composes herself.

"No, I'm totally fine," she says in a sweet voice, shaking her head. Huh, she sounds familiar. "Sorry, I wasn't looking."

When she walks away, I can't help but look at her back. She was wearing black and silver shades, and didn't leave me enough time to see her face, but from what I can see, she was another reincarnation of Lady Gaga, but this time, it was different, as in, unique. It reminds me of that one disco ball outfit, but instead of broken mirror bits, it was black fabric. There were still the crazy shapes and all, the wide hip figure, the little silver and black triangular piece in the middle of her chest, the sweetheart neckline on the strapless dress, lace, the black stockings and long, black gloves.

Wait. Why would I note that down? It's not like I know this girl after all.

Or do I?

I mean, she did tell me that her hair went back to its natural color, and this person's hair does remind me of the color of her locks from when we were first dating, but then again, she didn't tell me she got a haircut, and this girl's hair is really short, like, it's an angled sort of bob cut, but she has the same exact bangs that I would sweep off of her face or behind her ears.

Is this her?

But how?

What am I supposed to do?

"Macy?"

She, to my surprise, looks over her shoulder, and removes the shades from her face, and for the first time in three years, I see her face to face. She's still as gorgeous as ever, but the first thing that draws my attention was her eyes. Still twinkling the same way after all this time. Oh, and her lips. I'm wondering if she still has any of that Pina Colada lip gloss that I love so much. I'm also wondering if they still feel the same way they do.

"Hi, Nick."

**Okay, decided to split it into two separate chapters. I went overboard again. Am planning a two-shot after this, will be a Nacy again, but it's a lot more depressing. Just thinking of the idea bummed me out.**

**Don't wait up. And review. I will be mad if there are no reviews (no I won't, but still).**


	9. Chapter 9

**Definitely the last chapter this time. I hope you all enjoy.**

Oh, dear God.

Here we go again.

"Hi, Nick."

I never get used to these kinds of things. "Hey, umm, aren't I supposed to pick you up in four hours, you know, at the airport?"

"Right, about that," she said, fiddling with the sunglasses with her gloved fingers, "I kinda got an earlier flight-"

"Why didn't you tell me, I could've gone a little earlier," I say, holding Lauren even tighter to me as I feel her slipping.

"I wasn't going to give you an excuse for leaving," she replies, shaking her finger and giving me a wide smile. "I know how anxious you get with this type of thing-"

"No, not anxious," I say, butting in, "I wasn't nervous or anything-"

"Right," she says, and just watching her twisting her fingers around makes me want to take those gloves of and kiss them. "I sorta booked an early flight to surprise you-"

"Aww, how sweet," I say, teasing her, and I want to give her a hug, but seeing that my niece in currently in my arms, I can't exactly do that.

"Looks like you're being sweet with someone else," she says out of the blue, giggling quietly and giving me a wide grin.

"Huh? What do you- oh," I say, realizing that she was referring to the little baby girl who was currently fast asleep in my embrace.

"She's so teeny," she said, cooing over her, coming in close enough to pat her cheek lightly, but she doesn't come in contact with me. "Is she Kevin's second?"

"Yup, this is Lauren," I say, leaning in a tiny bit so she could get a better view, "but everyone calls her Laurie, so, I guess you can call her Laurie-"

"I'm privileged," she says, and, finally, she gives me what I've wanted for so long. She gently places her hand on my forearm, and inches in closer, but I see early on that it's not exactly to get in close proximity. "She's the goddaughter you mentioned, right?"

"Yep," I say, stroking the child's cheek lightly.

"Hiya, Laurie," she says, bending forward slightly so that she's almost face to face with the sleeping tot. "I'm talking to a napping kid. Jet lag?"

"Possible," I say, tilting my head a tiny bit so that I could see her better, the clearness of her eyes, the little lift in the corner of her mouth, the poutiness, the rosiness, just, dammit, everything. "But it doesn't really look like it."

She looks over to me this time, a warm smile creeping up to her face, her cheeks getting even rosier, if that was even possible, and she makes me the happiest man on earth. She pinches my nose nimbly with her index finger and thumb, and strokes my cheek. I suddenly get the urge to do the same, because her nose is just that adorable, but I really can't do anything about that now, sadly. So, instead, I just lean forward and nudge my nose against hers for a short second, and a cute giggle comes out of her. We both like being close to each other. And I like being the center of her attention.

Sorry, Laurie.

"Still smooth, Lucas," she says, tucking a few strands of her now short dark brown hair behind her ears, poking playfully at my nose.

"Yeah, I would still love to believe that," I say, giving her a small sheepish grin, and I find myself just embracing the kid even more snugly. I give her a little glance and I tell her as sincerely as I could "No lie, though Misa, you look really good."

She slants her head to the side, the smile just growing even wider, and she says, "I do, don't I?"

"Did you in any way coordinate with Stella?," I ask her, taking note again of her Gaga-esque get-up.

She nods enthusiastically, giggling happily again, before saying, "she sent it over to me a while back-"

"So you planned this surprise for how long?"

"Not important," she says, stopping me with her palm in my face, "yeah, so, I just got here a little early-"

I stare at her, curiosity getting the better of me, and I note out loud, "you never told me you got your hair un-bleached-"

"The bleach sort of just went away," she answers, a hand automatically just going up to touch said hair "is that possible?"

"I don't know, but either way, still pretty," I say, before realizing that the lack of oxygen I noticed only now might just be affecting me and the way I think.

"Can't breathe again?," she asks, and I know for a fact that she's just trying to provoke me.

"No, I'm good," I say, but I find it getting even more difficult to hold on to this kid. "Short hair. Why?"

"'Cause I wanted," she replies, propping her hands on her hips and leaning forward. I can feel myself just slumping already. "Besides, playing soccer with long hair is a big hassle," she says going on to attempt to aggravate me a little by flipping her bangs off of her face.

"That reminds me," I say, trying to get my mind off her, "Olympic gold medalist, real proud of you Mace. And two goals out of four, even prouder of you-"

"One of the most exhilarating times of my life" she said, glee completely washing over her face, "kicking that guy in the nads was almost as fun-"

"Hey, your language," I say, gesturing to the baby, "but yes, that was fun to watch."

"Uh-huh," she laughs loudly, much to my delight, "leaving ice skating was one of the better decisions I've made in a long time."

Yes, darling. Yes, it is.

"And you, oh my God, you," she says, punching my arm lightly, and giving into another fit of giggles, "four more Grammys-"

"Yes, you want to see my collection?," I say, getting a bit of my pride back. "There's a Tony in there too-"

"Oh yeah, that," she said, giggling even more, "I'm sure Les Mis would have looked better onstage, rather than the computer screen-"

"Well, you made an effort anyway," I tell her shrugging a little, "and it is very much appreciated."

"You're welcome," she says, giving me a curtsy. I'm very fond of her curtsies. "You do a very good rendition of 'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables'-"

"Yeah, I really would still love to believe that," I say, smirking at her, "but thanks for mentioning the Tony. I got hurt."

"Yeah, I know, I watched," she said, feigning a whimper. Yes, everyone has given me that same little sob, but strangely enough, it's only when she's doing it do I feel equally as bad and weepy, maybe even worse. I usually just get really pissed. "Are you okay, because it looked really bad on the computer-"

"No, I'm fine," I reply, shaking my head, "it's my fault for not paying attention-"

"Yeah, Frank called me about that," she said mischievously, "what was this thing I heard about you seeing me in the audience?"

"Yeah, turns out I was just getting a little dizzy, and started seeing you everywhere," I say, feeling a little ashamed, "sort of what I get for being so busy-"

"But no lie, I'm amazed at how you can still be in this sort of business-"

"And part-time party planner," I add under my breath, but just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiles, sniggering quietly, and says, "You're on a league of your own, Lucas."

I glimpse over to her, a little bemused, and tell her, "I don't know about that. I mean, I think you're in it with me."

"I don't think so," she says, shaking her head.

"Really? 'Cause I think you are. Way past me, I'd say."

She raises her eyebrow, and I can see that she's skeptical, but I somehow just forget all about that when she plants a small peck on my nose, dangerously close to my mouth. Damn it, just a tiny bit more.

"Nick?," she asks, and I can hear that she's a little concerned.

"Yeah?," I answer absent-mindedly.

"Are you okay? You still breathing there?," she asks, and, even though my eyesight is not being very cooperative at the moment, I can see that she was peering at my face.

"I guess," I answer back, because I am a little out of it, "why? Something wrong?"

"Yeah," she says, appearing to be quite apprehensive and even taking a step closer, "your niece-"

"What about her- oh," I come to apprehend that the still slumbering girl (amazing that she can sleep through something like that, I know I can't) was falling slowly out of my arms (not too much, mind you), as her feet were already dangling out of my grip.

I am somehow amazed, however, that Macy didn't notice that I was already slumping a little, and I know it's not from the weight of the baby.

"You want me to take her for you?," she ask, placing her shades on her head, and holding out her hand, "I mean, I dunno for how long this party has been going on, but I can see that you're kinda tired-"

"No, I'm good," I say, but mostly because I just want the air to come back.

"Nick, you're slipping," she tells me a fact that I am very much aware of. "Just let me-"

"No, its fine-"

"How come I don't believe you?"

"Oh, sure, now you're the one who's not convinced-"

"Can you just give me the kid-"

"No-"

"Why the hell not?"

"Language, Misa-"

"You're gonna collapse any minute-"

"No, I'm a man, men don't collapse-"

"Men aren't supposed to lose their breath around girls," she said, inching in again, and practically ribs me to death by holding me firmly at the hips, and pulling me even closer to her, completely ignoring the little girl in between us. Her gorgeous face is only a few inches away from mine, and I can see clearly how her eyes are shining with that irresistible confidence, how, with her cheeks, she really resembles a rose, and how glossy her lips are in their full, pouty glory. And I'm also wondering what flavor her lip gloss is, and how it would taste. Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

"Holy shit-"

"Language, Lucas," she says, holding down the laugh that I know she has in her, and she outstretches her arms, but doesn't try to increase the amount of space between us.

She's torturing me.

I reluctantly hand over the small infant gingerly to her waiting arms, and she, shame on me, just looks so natural with a baby in her embrace. She just coos and shushes the little girl to keep on sleeping, sweeping the little tufts of hair from her face, taking hold of her little limbs, her small fingers, and playing with her fairy costume. It just seems so effortless. Oh my God, holy Jesus Christ.

And then, just when I don't want it to, the idiot in me just blurts out something I usually wouldn't say.

"What flavor is your lip gloss?"

Oh, holy crap.

But, much to my astonishment, she replies without an upward glance, quite indifferently, "appletini."

"EBay?"

"EBay," she confirms, glancing up for a second and giving me a smile, before turning back her attention to Lauren.

"Laurie likes you," I say, observing how peaceful the child looks in her hold.

"How do you know, she's sleeping," she asks, still gazing intently at the snoozing baby.

"Exactly," I exclaim, "Only a few certain people can get her to sleep, or rather, to stay asleep, because she spends most of her time crying and eating. Even her own parents have a hard time with her."

"Hmm, so she must like you too," she says thoughtfully,

"Yes, she loves me," I reply, pushing my hands into my pockets and smirking.

"Well, I guess that makes two of us," she says, the right corner of her mouth going up. She's going to kill me by drowning me in happiness.

"I really want to know what an appletini tastes like," I say, my eyes dead set on her mouth, and she responses by smiling even wider.

"Really? Then why didn't you tell me?," Kevin rolls in, Danielle in tow, holding his arm, and I know they've had a bit too much to drink over at the adult table, but not yet exactly drunk, because they're both giggling out of control. "Well, whatevs, man, I got you a mimosa, just like I said I would- oh, hiya, Macy of school," he said, turning to her, waving his hand stiffly.

"Hi, uhh, Anthony," she replies rather nervously.

"Ha, you heard that, she called me Tony," he says, looking over to his wife, who's make-up was still surprisingly perfect, "clever, still very clever-"

"Kev, we were kind of having a moment there," I say through gritted teeth. Wow, I am pissed right now.

"Well, we're having a moment now," he replies, laughing again and patting my wrist (he can't reach very far).

"Hey, there Little Monster!," Dani comes forward excitedly, pulling Macy into a half-hug. She's caught off guard, but she leans into the hug, leaning only obviously because her arms are pre-occupied. "You look so different!"

"I could say the same," she answers, moving back slightly so Lauren wouldn't wake up. "Since when were you Asian?"

"Since five hours ago!," she answers even more eagerly, bouncing up and down a little.

"Wow, uhh, good for you," she trailed off, not really knowing how to react.

"Kev, Dani, leave," I say as calmly as I could, even though I was furious. They ruined a moment, and God knows how many moments I get.

"But we need to bring Laurie back to the nursery," he said, suddenly seeming to be genuinely sincere.

"It's nap time," she says enthusiastically to Macy, holding on to her arm.

"I can see that," she replies, and I find it funny that Danielle's acting a lot like how Macy was during her fan girl days, and Macy's acting a lot like how Danielle acts most of the time.

"You know what, it's okay, I'll bring her there," I say finally, because I am really sick of this conversation.

"No, I'll bring her there-"

"No, Kev, you're in a metal suit, how are you going to carry a bay in that," I say, halting him with my hand, "and Dani, you're a little out of it anyway, so-"

"I resent that, brother-in-law," she says solemnly, before falling into another fit of giggles.

"Whatever," I answer, shaking my head, "the two of you, just go get a mimosa or two on me, okay- yes, on me, Dani, now can you just leave? Yeah, okay, bye Kev-"

He struggles to pat my cheek (and man, did that hurt), with her grinning widely and helping him roll away. Macy looks over to me, a concerned look on her face, and she holds the young baby girl closer to her.

"They're really good parents," I reassure her, reading the unsaid question off of her face.

"I know, I just think drinking isn't exactly a really good thing for a people who have kids-"

"Don't worry, they can't really hold down their alcohol," I say, waving my hand indifferently, "they must have had maybe a glass, two tops."

"That's heartening, I guess," she replies with a shrug. She gestures to the baby, and asks me, "so, should we bring her to the nursery? We can talk up there."

I purse my lips together, later biting the bottom severely, and let my head wonder freely as I think it over, but, as much as I would really love to say yes, and believe me, I really, really, freaking want to, I say to her, "no, maybe not now."

"Why?," she asks me, tilting her head off to the side. At this point, I may as well just die today.

I don't say anything, but I jolt my head a tiny bit upwards as a reply, and when she looks back, Stella and Joe, not knowing that they were being watched, were arguing loudly at the top of the staircase.

"Mace! Wait just a bit- Joe, I swear to God, would it kill you to help me a little-"

"What do you mean, help you-"

"Down the stairs, you idiot!"

"Are those the baby hormones kicking in, or what-"

"I just want to see my best friend, don't you want to see her too?"

"I do, jeez-"

"Are you complaining, now, Lucas?"

"They fight like an old couple," she says rather non-chalantly. "Ahh, the wonders of pregnancy and matrimony."

"Agreed," I say, my shoulders popping up shortly. "Here, I'll bring her there, go greet them-"

"Are you sure?," she asks uneasily. "Don't you want me to come with you?"

"I think I can handle a fourteen and a half month old kid," I say, smirking at her. "Stella looks pretty excited to see you anyway."

"But-"

"Do you want to see your best friend or not?," I ask her, but before she can answer, I'm already taking hold of Laurie, and walking away. In all honesty, I just want to catch my breath for a second, and I can't do that when she's around.

"But Nick," she tries to protest, but I'm already going up to the second floor, and Stella had attacked her with a bear hug of epic proportions, with Joe sulking not far behind, shades completely covering his brooding eyes.

"Just look for me later," I call out, and I see plenty of hopeful ladies look up at me. Maybe that was a little louder than what I had intended.

I go up the flight of stairs quickly, because she's already squirming slightly, but I manage to keep her snoring, and I step into the second door to the left. It was the nursery Joe had worked on laboriously for six months on, coated in a bright Tiffany blue color (Stella had insisted they named her Tiffany since they already knew it was a girl, much to her delight), a rose pink crib, and toys everywhere (and I really do mean everywhere), and it was still smelling of paint faintly. I have to give it to him, he did a good job.

"Hey, Laurie," I whisper quietly as I set her down to rest. She waves her arms and legs up in the air for a minute, making strange noises, and then, by some sort of strange magic, she settles down, and just checks out of consciousness.

I really, really, want one.

But I only want to have it with one person. But I don't know if she'd want to give me that chance. And I don't even know if I'm still sure of what doing-

Oh, great. Now I remember about that.

I stand back up, setting my hands on the ledge, leaning forward, and dipping my head down to the direction of the crib. I am freaking exhausted.

"Drama," I say out loud, quite unlike me, and I step back, and putting my hands back in my pockets.

Drama indeed.

I feel around my pocket, and I pull out my white gold purity ring, and believe it or not, it's the first time I've really taken a look at it for a few months. I place it on my left ring finger, where I've been wearing it for most of my life, and ball my hand into a fist, trying to get used to it, but it somehow feels like it doesn't belong there anymore, it felt a little foreign.

I take it out, twist it between my index finger and my thumb, and funnily enough, it seems to have a particular sheen when the little sunlight coming through the windows hits it, the same kind of twinkle that she has in her eyes. Then, it only takes me a second to realize something.

There's been a little bit of her in this since I chose her. It's always going to be her, and I'm sort of thankful that she is.

But still. Am I doing the right thing?

God, if there's ever going to be a time when I'm sure I need your help, it's going to be now.

I love her, and it's driving me to the point where I've lost my sense of self. That never happens with anyone else.

"It had to be you, Misa," I say, ruffling my hair out of frustration. It had to be her. Out of all the surely wonderful fish in the sea, I had to pick her-

"What had to be me?"

I spin around, in a full circle, and come face to face with Macy, again, who was entering the room and closing the door behind her.

"What? Oh, no, that's nothing," I say, but I'm pretty sure none of us was convinced by that, "that was pretty quick, even for you."

"Yeah, it actually didn't take long before Stella got hungry again," she replies, walking towards the crib (more like skipping, if you ask me), "she dragged me with her to get a bite to eat, but then again, she and Joe started arguing over the little stain he made on her dress, so I sorta just slipped out. Didn't really take a long time to find the nursery, only Stella would have a room colored Robin's Egg blue and still insist on having genuine Tiffany jewelry mounted on the walls," she says, pointing to the little diamonds and others pinpointed on certain places of the room.

"Hmm, sounds authentic enough," I say, scratching my head, as she steps beside me and leans with her back against the edge of the crib the same way I was, only it looks much more desirable. Oh, holy-

"Is that your ring?," she asks all of a sudden, staring fixedly at my hand.

"Uh-huh," I reply, bending over a little towards her so that she could see it better.

"So Frankie was telling the truth," she says, tilting her head so she could get a clearer view, in the process, also brushing her head against my curls, oh dear God, "you did carry it everywhere-"

"I like bringing you with me, even though it's not really you," I reply, and I'm pretty sure she couldn't understand that. And, just when things don't look very good for me, a red hue comes creeping on to my cheeks.

"I'm a ring?," she asks, her own hand touching mine ever so slightly, but I am aware that it is just to pull my hand closer to her face as to see better.

"No, well, it's always been yours," I say, taking her hand with my other one and weaving them together, "I, you know, haven't really done it with anyone else, thank God for that, but, umm, I'd like to think that ever since, you know, you've left a little bit of you with me, just like I gave you a part of me, I hope, and the ring just sort of indicates that, so-"

"So, am I that important to you?," she asks cheekily, smirking.

I give her a quick little glance, and I reply simply, "you are my first for a reason."

I offer her the ring, but as a response, she just looks at it a little hesitantly, asking, "you sure?"

"I've been sure for over a decade," I tell her, pushing it towards her even more, "just take it, you should've had it for the last three years-"

"Now that I think about it, that is a long time-"

"Wait, now that I'm reminded of it," I say, withdrawing my hand for awhile, "why didn't you ever ask for it?"

She shuffles in her feet slightly, and says, "I don't know, I don't think it's really mine, because, well, you are a Grammy winner-"

"Are you saying that you're not good enough?," I ask her, cocking up an eyebrow.

She steals a peek, before blushing as well and saying, "not the same exact wording I was really looking for, but okay-"

I repress the chuckle I know that's going to come out, and tell her, "I tell myself the same thing practically every day."

"But-"

I turn myself slightly to face her, cup her face with one hand as the other snakes its way around her waist, pulling her towards me and leaving her with no space to move, and press a kiss on to her lips, taking in the faint apple flavor from her lip gloss, and rendering her speechless again. I have a habit of doing that. She makes a cute little squeak, and moves her lips against mine, practically making my head explode, before pulling me even closer (sweet baby Jesus), her hands finding their way to my back pockets and sneaking in (thank God I had those sewn in), therefore, pressing me even closer to her, if that was even possible. It doesn't take long before it escalates a little too far, and we almost fall over and instead, she pushes forward and I end up hitting the wall.

I reluctantly pull away, my eyes still closed, and I know that once I open them again, hers will be closed too or fluttering open. Fluttering. I don't let go of my hold on her, and, thankfully, she doesn't either.

"I like apples," I tell her, but I'm still in a dream-like state.

"I knew you would," she replies, smiling contentedly.

"Let go of my ass," I manage to mumble out, even though I don't want her to, and she emits a giggle as a reply and proceeds to remove her hands from my pockets. I brush away the stray wisps of hair from her face, probably moved there from my doing, and I take her left hand, sliding the ring on to her thumb, where, amazingly, just fits right.

"You apparently have big hands," she says, laughing and admiring the trinket on her thumb, leaning against my chest.

"I don't know, I want to think that you just have small hands," I tell her, grabbing hold on one of them, and kissing the fingers lightly. "But I guess that just makes it easier for me to cling to it."

"That sounds like a really bad cliché," she says, letting out a small chuckle.

"I feed on clichés, I'm an artist," I reply, firmly keeping my arm on her waist.

I look down at her face, and I can't really read the expression on her face, but when she catches me staring at her, she drops her head, and lays her head somewhere between my neck and shoulder. She's making this so much harder for me.

"You want to get out of here?," I ask her out of the blue (for her, at least), still staring at her, "come over to my place? I mean, I guess you're staing at my place for now anyway, so-"

"Now?," she asks, caught off guard slightly, "I mean, I sort of just arrived-"

"Didn't stop us the last time," I reply, giving her a smirk.

She smirks at me as a reply, and says, "that was of your doing."

"I know, and I really enjoyed it," I tease her, prodding at her nose. "It's not like we know anyone here. I mean, Stella can just yell at Joe the entire time, so they'll be pre-occupied, and Kevin and Dani are probably doing something wild, my parents are taking care of the kids, and God knows what Frankie's doing, so we might as well just leave."

"Well," she sets her chin on my shoulder, thinking deeply, or at least trying to appear to, "most of the people here are just some stuck-up Hollywood people-"

"Exactly," I say, moving a bit so as to see her better, "and, as we learned, you never really know what you're going to get."

"Well…"

Just freaking say yes. Please. I can't look like an idiot in front of my family now.

"Fine, let's just throw caution to the winds," she says finally, and I feel as though God was giving me a pat on the back.

"Cool," I reply, holding on to her hand, and dragging her out of the nursery and leaving Laurie (wow, almost forgot about her), to sleep.

I hope my plans don't backfire on me now.

_**LATER ON AT THE APARTMENT**_

"How do you want yours?," I ask her, my eyes fixed on the frying pan in front of me.

"How are you having it?," she asks, sitting on the countertop of my kitchen just a few feet beside me, wearing my long-sleeved polo with the sleeves rolled up a fair bit, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, and her bare feet dangling in the air as she watches me grab some eggs from the refrigerator. I, on the other hand, am trying to steer my gaze from her to avoid any accidents (I've let the oil splatter all over me three times so far- it was very hot, much to my displeasure), wearing my boxers, and as well as a wife beater she had convinced me to wear, mainly because she was the one who put it on me.

Read between the lines.

"Raw," I answer, shrugging at her and breaking one of the eggs into a glass to let her know I'm serious.

"Oh," she replies, her face falling slightly as I break another egg. "Umm, never was one for anything raw, unless it's sushi or a salad-"

"Scrambled?," I ask her, taking a sip from the glass (more disgusting than I remember it being).

"Is that the only way you know how to do them?," she asks me, bending over slightly to brush away the curls that were covering my face, and in the process, making my skin tingle.

"Pretty much," I reply, taking another gulp, "my sunny side up always ends up being scrambled anyway."

"Okay, whatever you suggest," she answers, her hands on the ledge and leaning forward a tiny bit, snatching one can of Diet Coke from the two I had brought out from the fridge, snapping the top off, and taking a short swig. I had to do everything in my power to look away.

"So," she continues to say, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "I see that you've added some pictures to your collection."

"Yes, I have," I reply, cracking the eggs open into a bowl and whisking them, "I had to put those pictures you sent over somewhere-"

"But you also put up the one where I was kinda drunk," she said, setting down the can beside her, "I sent that over as a joke."

"Who said I didn't know what that was for?," I tell her, taking the Coke she had abandoned, and taking a swift gulp, "that's actually my favorite- wait you actually had time to look at that-"

"I like taking in my surroundings first," she tells me, trying to grab the can back from my hands, but to no avail, "but then again, you haven't really changed the place that much."

"What's to change?," I ask her, avoiding her fingers as they threaten to poke my side, "you liked it so much the last time-"

"Yeah good to know," she says, attempting to grab her drink, but just go ahead and take another sip. "Why do you have to drink from mine?"

"This was yours?," I ask her, raising the can, "no wonder it tasted so sweet-"

"Then give it back, that's not good for you-"

"You can have mine," I tell her, sipping again, pushing to her the unopened soda.

"But I already drank from it," she said, clinging on to my wrist.

"Exactly the point," I say, before taking another sip, and then, just because I want her to feel the same way I do whenever she does this, I lick my lips, barely tasting the apple that she had re-applied on her lips a little while ago as well as the Coke, and I wipe away the bit of extra with my finger, and I use the same finger to touch the skin on the corner of her mouth.

She tingles a tiny bit.

Mission accomplished.

"Okay," she said, a little dazed, "umm, uhh…"

"What were you saying?," I ask her, stepping in front of her and placing my hands on the surface on either side of her, trapping her.

"Umm," she tries to begin, visibly distracted, but I bet that was because I was in such close proximity, "uhh, eggs-"

"You're kidding me," I say, craning my neck a little so I can see her better.

"I'm hungry," she replies with a shrug, bending a little so the space between us grew smaller.

Fine. Mission unaccomplished.

"Scrambled it is," I say, moving away and going back to mixing the eggs, then pouring it into the pan.

"No salt?," she asks, observing me as I prod at the mixture with a wooden spoon.

"Go throw in some," I tell her, pointing to the container on the shelf beside her. She grabs it, digs inside and sprinkles some in, and to probably get back on me, she pecks my cheek quickly before pulling back. Oh, dear God.

"Can I get some?," she asks, leaning in towards me and looking down at the pale yellow mass.

"Uh-huh," I reply, opening the drawer below me and pulling out a fork for her to use.

"Thanks," she says, taking the fork and scooping some of the egg straight from the pan, placing it in her mouth.

"Okay?," I ask her, watching her chew lightly.

"Here," she says, scraping some more unto the fork and offering me some. I raise my eyebrow, smirking a little, and she just giggles and just pushes the egg into my mouth.

"It will do," I answer, swallowing, and she just laughs again before taking another bite. She must be hungry after all.

"Oh," I say suddenly once I see her fingering the ring I had placed on her thumb. I forgot again, dammit.

"What?," she says, wiping her mouth again with the back of her hand.

"I need to give you something," I say, turning off the fire then leaving her there briefly as I went to my bedroom.

"What are you looking for?," she calls out as I rummage through the hidden drawer underneath my mattress (had that made because Joe and Frankie sneak in sometimes to look through my stuff).

"Just wait a bit," I say, lifting a few platinum record plaques (Frankie toyed with the first one I got- I never found it again), taking something out and putting it in my pocket. God help me now.

"Okay," I say, running back into the kitchen with my heart speeding up considerably. Now or never, Lucas.

"Well, what are you going to give me?," she asks, already having eaten a little less than half of the pan as she finishes off the last of the Diet Coke I had left behind.

"Well, uhh, how do I do this," I drift off, stepping in front of her again and placing my hands on her knees, obliging her to face towards me.

"Just spit it out," she says, sweeping the hair from my forehead again, wiping the little beads of sweat that were forming there with her knuckles. "I mean, this is just the margarita lip gloss you told me you found a while back, right?"

"What? No, Frankie stole that a long time ago," I say, shaking my head and causing her to stop.

"Oh," she replies her face falling slightly, "was kinda looking forward to that-"

"Look," I say, straightening up so that my face is more at level with hers, quieting her. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay, shoot," she says, mopping my head again with her hand, "you don't need to be nervous."

Oh, yes. Yes I do.

"You're not exactly in my position," I whisper, but I shake my head again, taking hold of her hands and kissing them. I can't help but notice how soft and dainty they are.

"Nick? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I reply, but my insides aren't really very cooperative at the moment, "umm, ten years, four months, three weeks and two days. That's a long time."

"Sounds like it," she says, giggling calmly, but she gets quiet again when I don't say anything, "what about it?"

"That's how long I've been in love with the same girl. Do you happen to know her?," I ask, fiddling with the ring and twisting it around her thumb.

"I do, very well," she said, grinning at me, but then, the grin is wiped clean from her face a second later, "you are talking about me, right?"

"Yeah," I answer, laughing at her, and I reach my hand up to cup her face, touching her earlobe lightly. "But when I thought about it, eight of those ten years were spent away from you."

"I'm aware," she said, with a half-hearted shrug and a sad smile as she holds on to my hand on her face.

"I have to say, it was really hard to stay in love with you, because I convinced myself that you were the one, but I wasn't so sure that you had felt the same," I tell her, the other hand gripping her knee tightly.

"Nick-"

"Let me finish," I cut her off, "but you know what was even harder?"

She opens her mouth slightly, but nothing comes out.

"Trying to not stay in love with you," I answer my own question, running my finger across her lip, "I tried, you know I did, but it didn't work."

"Thank God it didn't," she says, a smile playing on her lips as she pinches my cheek. "So, what is this all about then?"

"Well, I want to be like Kevin, and, God help me, Joe," I say, the fact that I'm actually doing this finally really dawning upon me.

"What? You want to be Iron Man-"

"No," I shake my head vigorously, "nor Horatio Caine, the man annoys me, I mean, oh dear God-"

"Nick? What are you trying to say?"

I let out a sigh, something that I've been holding back for a while, and I deep my head down to rest on the spot between her neck and her shoulder; I just want to get this over with. "Mace, I get that you're living your dream, and I am unbelievably happy for you, but you're kind of never here-"

"Oh, I get it," she says, her face falling, and a few seconds later, her eyes get glazed over with a sort of twinkle I'm not very fond of.

"No, you don't get it," I say, trying to explain myself more clearly, "I know that your job kind of requires it, and I get that completely. It's something my job requires too, and you've accepted it from the beginning. You have no idea how thankful I am for that-"

"I think I do" she said, nodding her head slightly.

"Yeah, but I don't think I'll ever get used to it the way you have-"

"Nick, it's not all that easy-"

"I know," I say, bringing my head up to nudge my nose against hers, "but I try. And I've gone this far, haven't I?"

"Yeah," she replies, smiling.

"But, the thing is, I always seem to have that doubt that you're not going to come back-"

"What? Why wouldn't I-"

"I know," I say, ashamed at my own thoughts of doubt, "but now, I really want to give you a reason to stay, and if that can't happen, because I know you're very much in demand, a reason for you to come back."

"You don't think you're a reason enough?," she asks, her hands finding their way to my face.

"I don't know," I say, gulping down nervously, and then taking out the small blue box, tied with a white ribbon from my pocket, "but I want to be."

"Oh, my," she mumbles, her eyes fixed on the Tiffany box.

"I want to know if you consider me as the one," I say, stepping away long enough to untie the ribbon, then opening the package, revealing a simple ring, with a simple silver band surrounding a single diamond. She had always been one more for simplicity, and the ring just described her perfectly. "I know this is a little rushed, but I waited how long for this. I just never really considered anyone else. I've always pictured it being you."

"Nick, I-"

"Choose me. I'm begging you."

She stays deathly quiet for a few minutes, her stare switching from me to the ring, her chest heaving up and down in apprehension.

"Macy-"

"Oh my fucking God!," she says (more like screams) finally, completely out of the blue, her eyes considerably very large, and her hands jumping to her face, covering her probably open mouth. "Holy shit- oh my God, you're really fucking kidding me….."

"Okay, I thought Stella was kidding when she said you usually react this way, but okay," I say, fully taken aback, the box still held out.

"This isn't exactly small news, Nick," she shrieks angrily at me, shaking her head.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I tell her sincerely, one hand trying to pry hers from her face, "I just thought you would say yes-"

"What in God's name were you thinking?," she says heatedly, one hand reluctantly joining mine, "I was gonna say yes, jeez-"

"Really?," I ask, not really believing my ears, "yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, laughing a little, and then I realize she's coming back to her normal state (that was quicker than what Stella said she would), "I mean, yeah, I do, I really, really want to get married. To you. You are asking me to marry you, right?"

I don't get to answer her.

I end up just shutting her up with another kiss.

**Didn't really like the engagement part. Oh, well, at least it's over and done with. Thanks for sticking with it. Had an immensely good time doing it, and thanks for being nice to me since it is my first story.**

**Review.**


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